Alone in a Crowd
by DragonGrin - former TeenTypist
Summary: Hermione stared down at her drink, contemplating her life. They'd broken off into the obvious couples after the War. She and Ron. Harry and Ginny. Saving the world made you feel pretty damn good about life. It didn't last. New Year's Eve brings out a lot of thoughts. And sometimes, people won't leave you alone while you're thinking. EWE. Complete.
1. Alone in a Crowd

**Author's Note:** As New Year's approaches, I had some thoughts swirling around in my head that were begging to be written. I wanted to write something with an out of the blue interaction between Hermione and Malfoy, and then this story seemed to just fall out of my brain. I should be posting another chapter of **Mugglefied** at the end of this week; it's written and I'm working on editing it.

 **Author's Note: 2:** The response to this first chapter was phenomenal; this is now going to be a 10-15 chapter story. As of right now, Sunshine Katz is also beta-reading this story. I'm reposting chapters 1-6 with minor fixes; chapter 7 goes up tomorrow, 3/19/19.

* * *

Chapter 1: Alone in a Crowd

* * *

Hermione stared down at her drink, her purse beside her on the bar, contemplating her life. They'd broken off into the obvious couples after the war. She and Ron. Harry and Ginny. Neville and Hannah. Dozens of others. Saving the world made you feel pretty damn good about life.

It didn't last.

They were seventeen, eighteen years old. It never lasted. She didn't think any of those couples were still together. Neville and Hannah had lasted the longest as far as she knew, but even they had called it quits in the end. The Neville who survived the war wasn't the mousy Herbology partner of Hannah's childhood anymore than the Ron who came home short tempered at the end of each day's Auror training was the boy who chewed too loudly and always made her laugh (when he wasn't being disgusting).

Time slid by, day by day. In and out of her boring Ministry job where she tried to tell herself she was making a difference, but she didn't believe it. She dated Terry Boot for a while. And there was a brief fling with Oliver Wood after one of George's parties. But let's face it…she was twenty-three and life didn't seem to be going anywhere.

In less than an hour a new year would start and it would be exactly the same as last year. She sighed and took a sip of her drink. She wasn't even sure why she'd come out tonight, except that sitting in a pub full of strangers alone ringing in the New Year had felt slightly less pathetic than sitting home on the couch and ringing in the New Year by herself with a bottle of wine. Hell, let's face it: if she'd stayed home she'd probably have gone to bed at ten and greeted the new year in the morning with coffee. Maybe she should go home and do that anyway.

"Merlin, this is pathetic. I'm twenty-three, not forty," she muttered to herself.

"Talking to yourself is a bad sign, even in the Wizarding world," drawled a voice behind her. The blond wizard slipped onto the bar stool next to hers and slid her purse out of the way.

Hermione didn't bother to even turn her head. It didn't matter how much time went by—she knew that voice. "Well, I wanted to have a conversation with someone of intelligence. My options were limited."

He smirked. "It's a good thing I've turned up then." He signalled Tom behind the bar to bring him a glass of whatever Granger was drinking and hoped it was good. He looked her over casually. Sleeveless dress, a little cleavage but not much. Hair she'd probably brushed that morning and not touched since. No makeup. It was as if she'd started to make an effort and then lost her enthusiasm. Pathetic.

The brunette witch snorted and took a sip of her drink, turning to look at him. "You must be having a slow week if you think this is entertainment."

He arched an eyebrow in the Malfoy equivalent of a shrug and dusted some imaginary lint off of his immaculate gray robes. "Plenty of invitations, but none tempting enough to say yes. If you say yes to a witch's New Year's Eve party, she might expect you to stick around the whole year, and then where would I be?"

She rolled her eyes. As far as she knew—without making any effort to really know what the little flobberworm was up to—general hearsay was that Malfoy was living a life of leisure. It seemed he and Parkinson had dated for all of fifteen minutes after the war, and he'd had a number of short-lived relationships, but nothing serious enough to please his mother.

Tom brought Draco's drink and he took a sip and made a face. "Really, Granger? What is this?"

"Fizzing Flyby. You shouldn't have ordered one if you didn't want it."

"Barkeep, take both of these away. Bring us…that '83 Bordeaux on the top shelf."

Grinning his toothless grin, Tom took away both glasses.

Hermione bristled, setting both hands on the counter. "I wasn't done with mine. Tom!"

Draco chuckled and on a whim reached out and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "Relax, Granger. Try the red. If you don't like it, I'll buy you another…Flyby."

Hermione looked down at his thumb on her right hand and used her left to remove it, dropping it unceremoniously on the bar top with a thud. Still, when Tom handed her the glass of red wine, she took a slow sip. Damn. It was good.

Draco had a smug smirk on his face as he also took a sip. Much better. "What brings you here tonight?" He glanced at her dress again. It hugged her curves. "Date?"

Hermione laughed. "No."

"Hunting for one?"

"Also no. Just thought I'd get out into the world for a bit."

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded—people at every table, and a good many of them standing between tables with their drinks. No dancing—it wasn't that sort of pub. But there was plenty of lively conversation going on.

His voice was dry, "Yes, quite a stimulating environment."

"Well, if you're here to liven up my night, get on with it. Wow me with your dazzling conversational skills. Or, hand me my purse, and I'll get out a book to read and you can go on your merry way."

"Merriness is over—Christmas was last week."

"Was it? I didn't notice." Not exactly true. She'd noticed. She'd spent it at home. Alone. The Weasleys had extended their usual open invitation but, the way she was feeling lately, she hadn't the energy. Maybe she ought to take some Cheer Up potion.

He reached over and spun the seat of her barstool around so that she faced him and took a closer look at her face, leaning in. "Salazar, Granger. It's like you're dead inside, and the inside is leaking to your outside."

She couldn't help it. It was possibly the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. It was also very possibly true. The holidays were always so hard anymore. No parents. The Weasleys were all right, really, but Ron had started dating Susan Bones not too long ago and she really didn't feel like hanging around the Burrow this Christmas. Harry was good when he was around, but he seemed to be in the wind so much these days she hardly saw him. "That's comforting."

He started at her, and his usual mask of composure slipped for the first time that evening. "I mean it, Granger. It's not a good look for you. What's wrong with you? You were always annoying but…alive." Very alive. Vibrantly alive. Obnoxious as hell. Smart-ass. But far too there to ignore or pass by.

She shrugged. There was no articulating the gray feeling that permeated her these days. Merlin, she hadn't even had a fling in nearly a year. Ginny had finally made the team on the Harpies and she didn't have any time for anything that wasn't Quidditch or working out. Hermione still hated flying in any and all forms, and as for working out…that took energy she didn't have. She hardly had the energy to make herself a sandwich some days. "I'm fine."

The blond wizard shook his head, laughing soundlessly. "You are quite possibly the worst liar I have ever met." He sipped his wine. What did you do for someone who looked this…out of sorts? She looked okay on the surface, but something was wrong, even to his eyes. Where were Potty and the Weasel when they should be nursemaiding her? She'd saved their scrawny asses more times than could be counted. "Would punching me in the nose again help?"

She managed to crack a smile. "I must look really bad if you're offering to let me punch you."

"I didn't offer to let you punch me. I just asked if it would help if you did." He set his fingers on the back of her hand and she didn't pull away this time.

She sighed. "Oh damn. Now I'm sadder than before." Still, there was a twinkle in her eye this time.

"You'll manage." He drained his glass and gestured to Tom for another. "I don't know what's wrong…but if you're this unhappy, get off your ass and do something. Quit your job. Spend the spring in Paris. Go have sex. Get a puppy. Something. Anything."

Hermione pushed her bushy hair behind her ears and looked him over. Draco had aged well so far. He had filled out a little—still slim, but not rail-thin as he'd been in sixth year, and the year that followed. His nose was still a little pointed. His eyes matched his robes. She licked her bottom lip a little without thinking about it and drained her glass. Draco had a reputation. She suspected a night with him wouldn't disappoint. Maybe a good shag was what she needed. "Is that an offer?"

Draco blinked.

Behind the bar, Tom called out, "Nearly midnigh'! 10…9…"

Around them, conversations stopped as the rest of the room seemed to join the countdown.

"…5…4…"

Hermione took a breath, looking steadily at Malfoy. There he was. Good looking. Solid. Probably still a slimy prat. His fingers felt warm on the back of her hand. A few minutes of conversation with him tonight was better than most of her last week had been.

"…3…2…"

Her eyes were so very brown. And if Draco didn't know better, he might say she looked scared. As the world around them reached "one" and screamed a welcome to the New Year, he picked his hand up off of hers and touched her cheek. Granger leaned in and kissed him with more energy than she'd shown the rest of the night. Her lips tugged against his, and opened her mouth. His finger stroked her jawline and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like wine and smelled like vanilla. She did something with her tongue that caused him to moan slightly, sliding his hand back from her jaw to the back of her head, fingers in her hair. He pulled away from the kiss panting.

She took a few deep breaths. "Do you want to get out of here? We could go to my place. Or yours."

He stood up and leaned forward again, touching the side of her face and kissing her next to her ear. He whispered, "Not tonight, Granger. If it still seems like a good idea in a week…find me." He slipped a piece of parchment into her hand and closed her fingers around it.

Draco left money on the bar for their drinks and walked away to the Apparation point. It took a lot of willpower not to turn around and repeat that kiss. But not tonight.

Biting her lip, Hermione stared after him for a moment. She kissed Malfoy. What was she thinking? Well…she was thinking he was pretty damn kissable. And she was right. Merlin, Circe, Morgana. It was probably a good thing one of them had some control. She looked down at the paper in her hand. It had his name and Floo address on it and some other information. It seemed to be the Wizarding equivalent of a business card.

She pushed away from the bar. She should go home.

* * *

Draco sat behind his leather-topped desk, chewing on the end of his quill for a moment before bending down to write.

I saw Hermione tonight at the Leaky Cauldron. She didn't seem to be herself. If you're any kind of decent friend, do something for her before she loses herself.

He muttered a spell and the note duplicated itself across three sheets of parchment. He sealed them, but didn't sign them, addressing one to Potter, one to Weasley, and one to the Weaslette.

He'd give it two weeks and then he'd check on her, if she didn't find him first. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and thinking about that kiss.


	2. The World Turns

**Author's Note:** Well, here I am. I've got the first few chapters of this written but I'm still playing with them a little. I think this will be between 5 and 10 chapters—I'm not looking to turn this one into a 400-page beast like _Mugglefied_ or _Law and Marriage_. I loved those stories, I loved writing them, but I think right now a shorter story is the next adventure for me. I think this story will probably span a few story months. It's probably mostly going to be character heavy relative to action-heavy; but I think that's probably typical of most of how I write. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The World Turns**

* * *

There was a crack of displaced air. Ron dropped his cloak where he stood, letting it pool at his feet. He walked a couple of steps and toed off his shoes, leaning one hand against the wall. He scratched his back as he wandered through the flat, contemplating shedding his shirt too. It had been a long day, and he'd been hit with a stinging jinx this afternoon. Even with a salve over it, it still stung a little and felt oddly itchy.

"Susan?" he called.

"Sandwiches are on the counter," a female voice called from the bedroom. "Up in a minute."

Ron shuffled into the kitchen and grabbed a sandwich off a plate, demolishing half of it in a couple of bites. He looked through the mail on the counter as he ate the other half. A bill for the robes he got last week. Adverts from Quality Quidditch Supplies. An envelope with his name on it. Newspaper. More junk. He opened the envelope—at least that had his name on it. Maybe it was fan mail from the witch he'd saved last week. She'd been giving him elevator eyes afterwards that were aggressive enough to make his ears blush.

It was just a few lines of thin, elegant writing. Probably Ginny's. He rolled his eyes, and tore it in half and dropped it in the bin. Some people should mind their own business. "Merlin, Gin is passive aggressive," he muttered.

"What's that?" Susan asked, coming out of the bedroom. Her hair was sleep tousled, and she was still in her pajamas—shorts and a strappy little top. With no bra, it was a sight that never failed to get a grin from Ron. Susan was perky.

He gestured to the bin, losing a bit of meat out of his sandwich in the process. "Rubbish post. My sister sent an anonymous note telling me I'm not being a good friend to Hermione." He rolled his eyes. "I think she's pissed that Hermione didn't come for Christmas or go party with her on New Year's Eve. I think she had some sort of big do with the Harpies that night. Some people need to get a life. Hermione can do what she wants. She's a big girl. If she wants to hang out, she will." He picked up another sandwich and took a bite. He managed to mostly swallow it before adding, "Anyway, I'll tell Gin she's being annoying next time I see her. Not worth wasting parchment on."

Susan rolled her neck, giving it a good stretch. She had to go to work soon. Working opposite shifts was a pain, but they weren't allowed to be partners at work anymore now that they were involved. She was hoping to get someone else to switch shifts with her so she could get back on the daytime rotation at least. "Some people have no boundaries. She probably meant well, but if Hermione needs some space right now, that's up to her. She's a smart witch."

"Probably. Anyway, where are you patrolling tonight?"

The shredded letter sat in the bottom of the rubbish bin while they dealt with the more important things in life—like eating sandwiches, and working in a quick shag between their Auror shifts.

* * *

Grunting, Ginny smacked the ball away with the end of her broom and launched it through the hoop. She hadn't thought she'd get there in time. She punched the air and did a celebratory dive. The whistle blew and the coach pulled her broom around until she was inches from Ginny's face.

Ginny still didn't understand how the witch always got there so quickly. Sometimes she swore Gemma ought to be a Seeker instead of the bloody coach. Maybe then she wouldn't get yelled at so often.

"Weasley! What was that? I told you, no celebration dives. No twirls. No dancing. You do not celebrate while gameplay is going on. You celebrate, you stop concentrating. You stop concentrating and they get the Quaffle. Do I make myself CLEAR?"

The redhead ground her teeth together. Quidditch was supposed to be fun. Quidditch was fun. Gemma was damn hard work. "Yes."

"I can't hear you."

"Yes, ma'am." Morgana. If she wanted to 'Yes ma'am' somebody she could go back to living at the Burrow.

"Give me a 5, 10, 20. Now! You take this seriously or you're not starting against Puddlemere. I have half a mind to pull you now."

"Yes, ma'am, on my way." Ginny dived without looking back at Gemma. 5 laps running around the pitch. 10 flying laps around the pitch. 20 push-ups. It could have been worse. Still, she was going to feel it tonight. They'd already been practicing for hours.

The rest of the team continued their mock match while Ginny worked off her penalty. She was finished about the same time they were, and Gwenog clapped her on the back as she passed by. "Gemma knows what she's talking about. I told you. We've got to take ourselves ten times as seriously as the men, for half as much respect most of the time. Don't take it too hard, but learn from it."

Ginny looked up and saw Gemma was still airborne, watching them shuffle off to the locker room. "You think she'd really pull me from the Puddlemere game?"

"She'd pull you from the starting line up without a second thought. It's her job. Do yours, and take it seriously." She gave her a friendly elbow to the arm, and Ginny stifled a grimace as the other witch had inadvertently hit a bruise.

Ginny nodded. There wasn't much else to say. She'd been with the team for over a year now, but she was still a junior player. She had been so relieved to finally get away from the joke shop and start playing Quidditch professionally. She was brought in for relief, and did a pretty damn good job she thought, but this was supposed to be her first time in the starting line up. Head in the game. Make sure Gemma knew you were serious.

"You coming out with us tonight?"

"No, I think I'm going to do some stretching when I get in and hit the sack early. Still worn out from the New Year's party. I don't know how you managed to party 'til dawn and make it through practice today." Ginny had fallen asleep around two. She'd kept her alcohol intake relatively minimal and stayed away from sugary drinks, but even so, she was wiped today. Whose dumb idea was it to still hold regular practice on New Year's Day?

Oh right. Gemma.

"I grabbed a few hours between dawn and when we had to be on the pitch. Not so bad when you only do it a couple times a year. See ya."

Ginny peeled off her practice gear and showered in the locker room. She tugged on a pair of sweats, put up her broom in its spot, and headed home.

She checked her mail. Daily Prophet. Quibbler. A letter from her mother. She picked up an envelope with her name on it, frowning. The handwriting was thin, and elegant. The parchment was nice. She read the message.

Who the hell thought she wasn't a decent friend?

She frowned. No from line. No owl had sat around and waited for a response. Who would even send something like this? The writing was too nice to belong to Harry or any of her brothers.

Seriously, Hermione was her best friend. What sort of crap was this?

She wondered if Hermione could have written it. That would be screwy—writing your friend an anonymous letter claiming you weren't being a good friend to her. Ginny'd invited her out for New Year's. Hermione hadn't wanted to come; she said she wasn't up for a crowd. She wondered vaguely whether Hermione had maybe had a date instead. She hadn't seen much of her lately, but the last she'd heard, she wasn't dating anyone.

She was tempted to write back and ask who this person was who wouldn't even sign their name. Of course, the owl hadn't stuck around and with no owl and no name, there was no way to know who sent it. She didn't recognize the handwriting, apart from thinking it could maybe belong to Hermione.

She'd visit Hermione soon. Sometime. Not now. Now she was beat. She'd have to be up early tomorrow for practice.

* * *

A nondescript brown owl flew through the open window and dropped a letter on the table with a pile of other unopened letters and newspapers and magazines.

The window was sealed with a special spell Hermione had worked out ages ago. Owls could get in. Owls could get out. Nothing else alive could get in or out. It was useful for making sure no one got ahold of your mail if you weren't around. It wouldn't do anything to stop a house-elf from Apparating in, but then again, even magic couldn't do everything. Nothing seemed to stop house-elves.

The owl left the letter on the table where other letters and newspapers were piled up. It ruffled its feathers once or twice, gave a disgruntled hoot, and left again.

Kreacher came through sometime later and tidied away the feather the owl had inadvertently left behind. He tidied the stack of mail—knowing the stack would fall over again when the next letter or newspaper arrived. He went about his tasks. He and Poppy kept the house tidy for whenever his master came home. Grimmauld Place was much better with Poppy here.

Master Harry was gone with the little Master Teddy—off to find some sunshine. Master Harry often took little Master Teddy away—all over the continent, to the islands, and to anywhere else that struck his fancy. When he was home, he went to the Ministry, but Kreacher knew Master Harry did not like it. Kreacher didn't blame him. Nasty Ministry fools. He would come home eventually.

He would keep things nice for when his Master came home.

* * *

The flat was quiet. Hermione roused herself enough to flick her wand at the kettle. The boiling water sounded almost deafening in the middle of the silence.

She thought about skipping work. There wasn't much point in going. She processed paperwork, and all her ideas for change, for making things better were ignored with a bland smile at best. And her boss…well he was a condescending bastard. He'd never taken it well that she was shoved into his department, in a position that was nominally more important than a nineteen year old should have…and he'd damn well let her know it. Never to her face, but always with the "Oh yes, we'll see. That sounds nice," that never came to a damn thing. It was soul-destroying.

Still, the only thing worse than going to her office and doing nothing useful would be sitting in this flat and doing nothing useful. She pulled on a fresh set of robes and stepped into her shoes. She tapped the kettle and let the water cool without having made herself any tea.

Hi ho, hi ho, off to the Ministry I go, she thought glumly. She holstered her wand and got herself on her way before she could talk herself out of it. This routine was getting old.

She entered the Ministry and made her way to her closet of an office. She returned polite greetings hardly even aware of the words she spoke, acting nearly on autopilot before reaching her desk. There was the normal pile of in-out pages on the tray. Nothing earth-shattering. Nothing that couldn't wait a day, or a week, or a month. Would anyone notice if she didn't do them at all?

She did them anyway. It helped pass the time.

A shadow passed against the doorframe. Eloise from the front desk was there. "I was thinking of going to get a sandwich. D'you want to come?"

Hermione hesitated. She hadn't eaten anything today. It would probably be a good idea to eat something. She agreed to go, and grabbed her bag.

Eloise was a bit of a chatterer. It meant lunch only required fairly minimal input from Hermione and she had company. She didn't feel like quite so much of a loser. She mused to herself—while listening to Eloise tell her about her rather raunchy New Year's Eve a few days ago—that it would be one thing if there was any aspect of her life going well. Just one thing. That was it. That was all she needed.

Had offering to take Draco Malfoy home been a low point? On the one hand, she hated to think she was that far gone. On the other hand…it was almost unbearable to imagine things getting worse. And then they got worse. Because she realized Draco Malfoy was right. She had to do something. Anything.

And damn Draco Malfoy for having to be right about it. Wasn't she supposed to be the smart one?

"What do you think? Should I see him again?"

Hermione blinked. "It sounds like you had…quite a time. Probably wouldn't hurt."

"I know, but I think he's got a girlfriend. Or maybe she's not a girlfriend. Maybe she's a stalker."

Hermione winced. "A stalker? That…could hurt. Maybe don't see him again."

"But he was so good…" Eloise started to ramble on about his many talents again while Hermione nodded along.

She could get a cat. She liked cats. She hadn't had one since Crookshanks. Cats were soothing and warm and furry and they sat on your lap and purred. It would be much better to come home to a flat with a loving cat in it than an empty one. "Do you like cats?"

"Oh, no, they make me sneeze. And they shed everywhere." She went on to describe the fellow she was planning to see tomorrow night—he wasn't as good in bed as the first bloke (if the rumors were true), but he didn't come with a girlfriend or a stalker, so that might be a step up.

Cats didn't make Hermione sneeze. And she knew a charm for dealing with the fur. Cats were pretty quiet though. Even with a cat the flat would still be pretty quiet. She looked at Eloise and wondered if maybe the answer was to move out into a two bedroom and get a flatmate. Someone else to rattle the pots and pans around, and sit with in the evening. "What about not dating for a bit? Aren't you just out of a long relationship?"

Eloise nodded vigorously. "Three whole months. You know what they say, you've got to get back on the broom after a broken heart."

Hermione was fairly certain Eloise had mixed up her metaphors somewhere. They finished their sandwiches and headed back towards the office. Maybe it wasn't her home life that was the problem. She'd always been fairly solitary—preferring books to people most of the time. Maybe she needed to quit this job. She'd been here for four years. Her optimism was gone. She hated coming in every day. She hardly even saw Harry anymore. He was in another department, but as far as she could tell, he was basically a trophy. They liked to trot him around the offices from time to time as a moral booster, but she never got the impression he did much anything real any more than she did. The Ministry just wanted to say that Harry Potter was a major part of their Department of Law Enforcement and had a pretty title over the Aurors—even though the last thing he wanted anything to do with was hunting down dark wizards. He escaped out of town every chance he got, and showed up to smile at events when coerced.

Eloise was going on now about which robes she ought to wear for her date. Hermione interrupted the other witch's monologue to ask, "Do you like your job?"

"Well, it's a job. No one really likes it, do they? I mean, I don't mind. I'm useful—I answer the mail and send people where they need to go. I'd rather be out sitting on the beach, but a girl's got to eat, right? I don't mind it so much though."

So it wasn't exactly universal. It wasn't the office. It was her. She needed to get out there. She thanked Eloise for lunch and went back to her desk.

She lingered over the afternoon's reports, making notes she knew no one was probably going to acknowledge, and submitting them. She could just barely see Eloise in the outer office, talking animatedly to a wizard from across the hall. Maybe the other witch had something. Maybe a bit of physical fun would make her feel better.

She thought back to Draco Malfoy. She'd kissed him. She'd tried to take him home. Her toes curled inside her sensible shoes and she got a bit of a smile on her face thinking of the kiss. The memory of it was still warm. It hadn't been a whole week yet.

As her boss passed by, she called out, "Did you have a chance to see my proposal on integrating reclassification of people with lycanthropy into the bill that's going up before the Wizengamot next month? I put it on your desk."

"Oh yes, we'll see. That sounds nice, though not sure now is really the time for it. Keep thinking and I'm sure we'll come up with a good place for it," he gave her an artificial smile and sailed off to his office.

Something snapped in Hermione. Oh wait, it wasn't Hermione. It was her quill. It was broken in her hand. How did that happen? And why the hell did wizards use quills anyway? So much less practical than pens and pencils. Luddites, the lot of them. Totally unwilling to change.

Hermione took a deep breath. She was done. She could not do this anymore. Malfoy was right. If it was so unbearable, she ought to make a change.

In less than five minutes she'd gathered up her personal items and was standing by her boss's desk. "I respectfully resign. I will not be back. Everything in my outbox is done." She walked away before the man could start to make excuses—not that she'd believe them anyway. She suspected he'd get an earful from someone higher up for letting Hermione Granger leave, but that he personally wouldn't mind much.

Merlin, now she really didn't have any reason to get up tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow she'd get up and get a cat.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Depression might look like someone who says they're fine. It might mean eating too much…or not at all. Or reorganizing all your books for the third time that week in the middle of the night. Or cooking and elaborate meal you don't want to eat, so there are a pile of dishes to wash and you have something to do with your hands. I know this probably sounds like an after school special, but please: Check on your friends and family, and take care of yourself.


	3. Where Are We Going?

**Author's Note:** Thank you everyone for your support. This is a different story from most of what I've written before. Still feeling it out and seeing how it grows.

* * *

 **Chapter 3:** **Where Are We Going?**

* * *

Draco stared out the window for a moment and then turned back to his desk. The calendar told him it was January 5. He had had a meeting earlier this morning with one of his suppliers, but nothing this afternoon.

The apothecary was doing well. He didn't have to mix potions himself anymore; other people did that. Tomorrow there was a pair of wizards who was going to throw their sales pitch at him to get him to back their new broom design. He suspected it still needed a lot of work, but it wouldn't hurt to get in on the ground floor if it showed promise.

He rubbed his temples. His office was quiet, up on the third floor above the shop. He'd found the second floor was too close to the smell of simmering beetles and crushed newt eyes. He'd taken the fourth floor as his flat.

He was contemplating taking a break for lunch when he heard a noise from the fireplace in the reception area. He didn't get a lot of walk-in traffic on this floor. He was even between receptionists at the moment and it didn't exactly feel urgent to get a replacement. He pushed away from the desk and went out towards the voice calling. "Hello…?"

To his mild astonishment, there was Granger. Then again, he had given her the address. He studied her a moment. She was wearing loose fitting cotton pants and a heavy winter coat. Her hair was looking wild—even for her. A part of him wondered if maybe someone had traced the notes back to him, and told her about it…but she didn't look like she was about to hex him, so probably not. He'd proceed with caution.

"Granger. I'm surprised to see you. Either my calendar is wrong, or it hasn't been a week yet. To what do I owe this pleasure?" His tone was carefully pleasant.

She looked around at the office, wondering what he did here. She hadn't heard that he was in business or employed anywhere. Not that there were any other employees that she could see—a reception area, and an office behind him. A conference room off to one side. "I wasn't sure where else to go. I quit the Ministry yesterday. And I think I need a cat."

"Taking up a career as a crazy cat lady?" he asked mildly, he leaned against the reception desk, putting his hands in his pockets.

That earned him a chuckle. "I've always been a crazy cat lady. Some years I was just a repressed crazy cat lady."

Draco suppressed a smug smile. There was a bit of a spark in her. It was an improvement. "Any idea what comes next?" He tilted his head at her in a follow-me gesture, wondering if any of her friends had seen her this week. Was there a way to ask that wouldn't bollocks up the whole thing?

"No idea. I thought maybe I'd go down to the pet shop in Diagon Alley," she said, following him into his office. The furniture was elegant, but serviceable. Clean lines, with lots of wood and leather. He sat himself behind the desk, and she stood behind the spare chair, gripping the back of it as though she was still surprised to find herself here.

"You could take off your coat and sit down. Stay awhile." He was still studying her. He wondered idly if she had just buttoned her coat over her pajamas. Something about her appearance made him think she probably had. Still, there was a bit of color in her cheeks. Her energy level was up. She seemed to be a bit frazzled, but…awake in a way that mattered. And she'd done something. That had to be an improvement, right? "What led to the sudden change of occupation?"

"Hard to say I've changed occupation when I'm unemployed."

He leaned across the desk, hands folded in front of him, with a smile tugging in one corner of his mouth. "Surely you didn't just wake up and decide to quit?"

Granger gave him a dry look, and unbuttoned her jacket, laying it over the back of the chair. As he suspected, she did look like she was in her pajamas. She sat down. "I was having lunch with a coworker, and she was going on about some wizard she was shagging and I thought about what you said about needing a change and I—" She stopped, noticing that a full-grown grin had broken out on Malfoy's face. "What?" she asked, sharply.

"You thought of me because your co-worker was describing fabulous sex." The grin morphed into a smirk.

"I didn't say it was fabulous." Her cheeks tinged a bit pink.

His voice got low, and he teased, "You wouldn't have thought of me if she was talking about terrible sex."

She stiffened with dignity, but…he had a point. "As you pointed out the other night…you're not a bad choice for an intelligent conversation. It was good advice. At any rate, I thought I'd make a change."

He leaned back in his chair, dialing down the intensity, giving her a little space. "So, tell me. How does it feel?"

She let out a sigh. "Surreal. But nice." She grimaced. "I expect the panic to sink in any time."

He raised an eyebrow. "Panic? You? Never."

She shrugged and smiled just a little. "Panic's not so bad. Might wake me up a little. I haven't had a good boost of adrenaline in awhile."

He looked her over again. "Oh, I don't know. New Year's wasn't that long ago. Don't tell me that didn't make your heart race." He wished her hand was on the desk so he could put a thumb over the pulse point in her wrist. Unfortunately her hands were in her lap out of his reach. "What's next on your agenda?"

"I thought I might go get a cat—get a nice start on that whole crazy cat lady thing." Really? Did he think she was going to decide to do something else if he kept asking?

He smiled at her. She probably hadn't eaten all day if her clothes were anything to go by. "Counter-proposal. Why don't we go to lunch, and then we'll see about that cat."

Her lips parted slightly and she wet them. Lunch with Draco Malfoy? Out in broad daylight? What the hell. She had just quit the Ministry. Malfoy could buy her lunch. "Deal."

He stood up, walking casually around the desk, and standing behind her chair. He drew his wand silently and ran the tip of it up her arm, whispering in her ear, "First…let's get you into some real clothes." He murmured a few words and the baggy cotton pants and t-shirt transformed into a green dress.

It was Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrow. That was a tidy bit of magic. But still… "Never draw your wand on me."

"Not even for a good surprise?"

"No surprises," she said firmly. She was surprised at herself for not reacting as soon as she felt the tip of his wand on her arm. There was a time when responding with a physical shove or a nonverbal counter-curse would have been second nature. Maybe she'd gone soft in her office the last few years. All the paperwork had dulled her reflexes and senses. She pushed the chair away from the desk and Draco had to back away.

The trademark Malfoy smirk graced his face as he took her hand and turned her this way and that to admire his work. And in fairness to her…she chose to let him look. After all, he was right about her heart rate. It was starting to climb. She didn't think it was the dress he was admiring. "Well?" There was a teasing smile.

"It's a good start." He raised the hand he was he was holding to his lips and kissed it. Her hair still looked like she'd been standing on her head, but her face…it was looking lively. He had left her hair alone. No sense in making her feel like he thought she was a doll. Changing her clothes was one thing. Her hair was personal.

She looked down at her sneakers and the dress and curiosity got the better of her. "You don't happen to have a mirror do you?"

"Full-length behind the door."

She rolled her eyes. "I should have guessed." She padded over to the door and shut it so she could look in the mirror. Her hair was a rats' nest. Some make up wouldn't hurt. And the sneakers… Still, she admired the work he did on the dress. It clung to her but wasn't too low cut. Vines traced up the sides of it. "I didn't know you had an eye for this thing. Or the transfiguration skills for it."

"I'm a man of varied talents." He shrugged, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

She took her wand from her wrist holster and brought it up to her head and closed her eyes.

"Well, well, Granger," Draco said, just a foot behind her.

She opened her eyes and looked in the mirror. Her hair was brushed and pulled back, half down, tickling her neck and back. She hadn't done much makeup magic—a bit of color on her lips. Something to darken her lashes. She glanced down at her shoes. She put a glamor over them and let them look like boots. She locked eyes with him in the mirror. "Has the dead inside stopped leaking outside yet?"

He stepped closer and his lips brushed against her ear. "Even better—the life inside is spreading outward."

He picked up her coat and put his hand on her lower back, and led her out of the office for lunch.

Hermione and Draco ate at a little place around the corner from the apothecary. She didn't know where she was going—other than down the street later to check out kittens—but for the first time in a long time, life didn't feel hazy. She talked. She listened. "What do you do in that fancy, empty office?"

"It's not always empty." He reached across the table and touched the back of her hand. "Would you believe me if I told you there was a time I looked as bad as you did when you shuffled into my office?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Rats' nest hair and all?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, no. My hair is amazing. Yours is a train wreck, even on a good day. And you really can't beat a nice aristocratic nose like mine. But the dark circles under my eye were nothing to scoff at. This was four years ago. I've sorted myself out since then. And now, here I am." He gave what he hoped was a charming smile.

It had the desired effect and managed to bring forth a chuckle from her.

After they finished their lunch and went outside. There was a walled garden out back, kept warm enough for flowers even in January. Warm enough to carry her coat over her arm instead of wearing it.

He kissed her, open-mouthed, his tongue slipping between her lips. She groaned softly, toes curling in her disguised sneakers. She leaned against him. He felt solid and real and very much alive. She needed that. She nipped at his lip, and then his mouth moved away from hers, down her neck. Tasting. Sucking. She whimpered as she felt his lips on her shoulder and his hand on her ass. She dropped the coat that was over her arm. Her fingers were threaded through his hair. She was breathing hard as he pulled away. She looked at his flushed face. "We could continue this…elsewhere. Somewhere with a bed."

He was quiet for a long moment, his pupils still dilated, spots of pink on his pale cheeks. "You're going to be the death of me." He took a couple more ragged breaths. "I told you a week. Come back in two days."

She raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. "A girl can only invite you to her bed so many times before she gives up."

"Don't tempt me, Granger." He looked her over and took a long pause. She looked better today, really. More of the old her back. Maybe quitting her job was the kick in the ass she needed. Still…he wasn't taking her home today. She was probably still in shock. He wasn't going sleep with zombie-Granger. If real-Granger woke up and wanted him…well, he'd thoroughly enjoy the experience if this afternoon was anything to go by. He let a sardonic smile curl up on his face. "Since you couldn't wait a whole week…I think we'll have to start the clock over. Not two days. I'll see you in a week."

"Who says I'll still be interested in a week?"

He shrugged and pressed his lips to her neck, right where it met her shoulder and appreciated the shiver that ran through her. "Oh, I think I can take that risk." He moved his head up, lips brushing her ear. "I think you've had a taste. And you want me. But I want to make sure you really need me. I promise…I'm worth the wait."

Hermione licked her bottom lip. Maybe a break would be a good idea. After all, yesterday, she had thought that wanting to sleep with Malfoy was her low point and now she was ready to jump him. Damn his kissable lips. She moved away from him a few inches. "I'm not sure I'll be interested if you change your mind."

He smirked, but all he said was, "Fair warning."

She leaned in and kissed him one more time, lingering for just a moment, and then she pulled herself together and left. She'd go pick out a cat. By next week, she wouldn't want anything to do with Malfoy, and she could get his kisses out of her head. Probably.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This is feeling like a strange story relative to a lot of what I've written. I'm not sure how to describe it. More spark than slow-burn? I'm trying not to make this a wholly Draco-saves-Hermione story even if it make look at that way at the moment; some things you have to do yourself. But a support network sure as hell doesn't hurt.

 **Author's Note 2:** I forgot to mention, "Surreal, but nice" is from one of my favorite movies, _Notting Hill._


	4. Skimming

**Author's Note:** I forgot a very important note when I originally posted last chapter. "Surreal, but nice" was a line I borrowed from _Notting Hill_ , one of my favorite movies. If you haven't seen it, I completely recommend it. It's adorable and sweet and wonderful.

I'm giving a training session today on 3D printer repair and I'm far away from home and it's desperately cold outside. Please brighten my day with a review?

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Skimming**

* * *

Skimbleshanks laid across Hermione's lap, purring. He was utterly agreeable until she wanted to get up. If she tried to get up, he protested mightily, and then followed at her heels, meowing to be picked back up. Walking was beneath him—he should always have a pet human to carry him.

Part of her wondered if maybe she should have gotten a dog. Cats were pretty independent. A dog would have required that she leave the flat every day a couple of times a day to let him out.

Then again, she was not a dog person. They slobbered and barked, and you had to get up and let them out.

Cats were much more her speed—even if this one was a bit needier than most.

The debilitating grayness had lifted a little. She wasn't doing useless busy work anymore. And there was a cat to come home to. The problem was, she wasn't really going anywhere.

She still didn't know what she wanted to do. She wasn't going back to work at the Ministry, that was for damn sure. There'd been a letter from her boss—ex-boss—no doubt coerced from the Minister advising that if she needed to take a sabbatical and come back in a few weeks, it could be easily arranged and they'd be happy to accommodate her.

She didn't bother responding. She wasn't going back.

If she didn't want to work for the Ministry, that left the private sector. Mediwitch for St. Mungo's. Any of the shops on Diagon Alley. Newspaper—the thought of Rita Skeeter as a co-worker actually made her laugh out loud and started the cat. The problem was, there wasn't really anything she wanted to do.

She scratched Skim behind the ears. They'd bonded quite well in the last few days. She hadn't even had him a week yet. Then again, she was staying home, reading. Plenty of time for cat-bonding. She was showering every day. And she'd gone to the store, so the fridge was stocked. These were good things.

She mostly wasn't even entertaining thoughts of Draco Malfoy. Still…it might be fun. Okay, the thoughts were still there.

It had only been five days since she'd stood in his arms and he said to come back in a week. Something impish sparked in her for just a moment. If nothing else, Malfoy's office was a destination. It was somewhere to go and get out of the flat. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dressed herself in slacks and a sweater and hopped in the fireplace. Skim meowed in protest but didn't try to follow.

She arrived in the office and saw the reception area was once again empty. She could see through the window that Malfoy was in his conference room talking to people. She supposed she could go home. Or go wait in his inner office. Instead, she sat down at the front desk. There were quills, ink, and parchment in neatly organized cubbies. There wasn't much else to find. The drawers were empty of everything but office supplies.

After a few minutes, she opened a bottle of ink, picked a quill, and helped herself to a piece of parchment. She started jotting down possible job ideas for lack of anything better to do.

Eventually the conference room door opened and Malfoy came out, followed by a couple of wizards around thirty. One looked fairly dejected, the other's face held some cautious optimism. They barely registered the witch behind the desk as Malfoy shook hand with both of them and they left through the fireplace.

When they were gone, Draco let his eyes linger on Granger. He'd seen her through the window while Barnaby and McCormick were giving their presentation, but hadn't acknowledged her 'til now. "Have you decided you have a burning desire to be my new receptionist?"

She contemplated the sheet of parchment in front of her and said glibly, "No, that one actually didn't make my list. I'm not sure what you really do here, so I can't possibly be your receptionist."

He chuckled. "You look cozy behind the desk."

"The chair is quite good. What's the secret?"

"Each feather that chair is stuffed with is individually charmed, rather than charming the whole chair."

She couldn't decide whether he was joking, but the smile on his face was nice. She folded up the parchment and put it in her pocket, corking the bottle of ink.

Draco leaned against the edge of the desk, looking down at her. "So…if you don't want to work with me and see my face every day, what brings you here?"

The impish spirit that had taken Hermione and convinced her that coming in was a good idea had faded a little. Still, she was here. "I thought I would see if you were really serious about that whole waiting a week business." She stuck her quill back in the stand and left her hand casually on the desk.

He traced his finger down the back of her hand. "There are some things I never joke about. Pleasure is one."

She sighed. "So you're resetting the clock on me?"

He tilted his head, looking down at her. "I'm beginning to think you don't want to see the clock run out. Well, either that, or you just can't bear the thought of going seven days without seeing me."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "The problem with those two theories is that you have no way to know which one is right."

His eyes scanned over her. "Real clothes today, even. Though I'll admit, I thought that green dress was rather fetching."

"You would."

"Would a scarlet dress have been more to your tastes?" He fingered the sleeve of her navy sweater. "I'm sure we could work something out."

She looked him over. "I'll let you know if I need fashion help. What were those two who were in here doing? What exactly do you do here? This is a lot of space for you having this whole place to yourself."

"They want to start a business. I listen, tell them if I think they have anything worth while. If they do, I may provide resources—funds, connections with partners, that sort of thing."

"And how did they do?"

"Their idea shows promise, but isn't strong enough yet. I told them to come back in six months and I'd reevaluate. I started the apothecary downstairs a few years ago. Eventually I found other people to do most of the work, and now…you'd be surprised at how many pies I've got my finger in." He slipped off the desk and walked around it, standing close to Granger, still enthroned in the office chair. "Is that enough information for you? Are you looking to make this seat permanent?"

She considered. "It's a comfortable chair, but I think I'll pass." She pursed her lips. "Do you have anything else on offer?"

He wet his lips. "I suppose we could work up a proposal. You could read me a pitch to evaluate."

She stood, the action putting her quite close to him. He smelled incredible. "I guess we'll have to give it another seven days then." She leaned in and gave him a teasing kiss.

He wrapped both hands around her waist, fingers skimming just under the hem of her sweater. His hands were warm and firm. He pulled away from the kiss. "In a week."

"If, of course, I haven't changed my mind." She was aware of his fingers still pressed against her skin, cool air hitting the skin revealed between her sweater and slacks. The game was more fun than she'd had in a while. She felt him rest his forehead against hers, so close that his breath warmed her lips as he chuckled.

"I don't think you'll change your mind. The real question is…can you wait a week?"

She reached behind herself and pulled his hands away, moving sideways away from him and the desk and straightening out her sweater. "I don't want you that bad."

Draco chuckled, but didn't say anything. Granger was looking so much more lively in the almost two weeks now since New Year's. Still, it wouldn't hurt to give her another week. As far as he knew, none of her so-called friends had reached out. Give her another week to find her new normal and sort things out. "I can tell. You didn't even offer to take me home this time. I'm hurt."

"You'll live." She started heading towards the fireplace.

"You've hardly said a word about your week. I'm dying of curiosity. Did you find a cat? Have a tea party with Potter and Weasley? Go shopping with Weaslette?" He let his eyes linger over her sweater, wondering if it was new.

She paused, looking him over. It seemed like an odd question for narcissistic schoolyard bully Draco Malfoy. But then again, hadn't all three encounters recently been supremely strange? The fact that she'd sought him out was strange in and of itself. Maybe she should check for a fever when she got home. She was feeling a bit warm. "I did get a cat. Skimbleshanks. He's orange. I haven't seen any of the others." An expression passed over Malfoy's face that she couldn't make out. "Skim kept me company. I'm not much of a shopper, and I like coffee better than tea."

He arched an eyebrow. "Heathen."

She grinned. "Guilty as charged. Is the charge against the lack of shopping, or the coffee drinking?"

"Both." He'd sent out three letters and not one of her so-called friends could make half an hour for her? She needed better friends. Maybe there were some other maneuvers he had left in his arsenal. "Maybe next time instead of you interrupting my work day, I'll interrupt your cat-day and take you shopping. Of course, for that to happen, you'd have to manage to stay away from here for a week."

"Oh that sounds difficult," she said sarcastically.

"You're still a terrible liar, Granger. There is no way you really prefer coffee to tea."

She moved to the fireplace and was gone.

He stared after her for a few moments, watching the space where she'd been. Time for another letter. The less direct approach.

* * *

Her whole body ached. Gemma had even come up to her at the end of practice today and told her to stop pushing so hard or she wouldn't be fit for the Puddlemere match. Even Ginny's face hurt enough that she managed to keep from grinning. Mission accomplished. She'd convinced Gemma that she was serious and committed. She could ease off a bit now.

She'd done nothing for days but train—both with the team and on her own. Maybe tonight she'd treat herself to a cookie. She could walk to the bakery down the road.

But first, she needed to get out of these boots and stretch her legs. She stripped off her boots and socks and sat on the couch rubbing her feet. There was a tap on the window and she flicked her wand at it, letting an owl in. She recognized it—Horus. Bill had gotten it for her parents for Christmas a couple of years ago when they finally retired Errol.

The owl flew straight to her and sat on her head. With difficulty, she disentangled his talons from her hair and set him on the arm of the sofa while she untied the letter from his leg.

Ginny,

Have you heard from Hermione lately? Perkins told your father that Hermione's quit the Ministry. Is she okay? I'm worried about her. She didn't come for Christmas. Maybe she's been Imperiused. Have you seen her?

We received the tickets you sent over for the Puddlemere match. We can't wait to see you start, dear. Make sure you're eating enough. It's not good to fly on an empty stomach.

Mum

She winced, reading the letter over again. Hermione. She'd meant to go check on her days ago. January was nearly half over. She'd just been so busy lately. She wondered when Hermione would have quit. How long would that sort of information take to filter down to her father?

She didn't think an Imperius curse was likely, though anything was possible.

She could visit Hermione tomorrow, but she had the nagging feeling that if she didn't go now…she was going to get caught up in things and another week would have gone by. She rubbed her feet one more time and stood up, looking for her sneakers. There was no way she was getting back into those Quidditch boots tonight.

She'd take a quick stroll to the bakery and pick up some cookies, and bring them over to Hermione's flat.

Half an hour later she was standing in front of Hermione's door with a bag of cookies. She knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. She was on the verge of going home and trying to Floo call her instead when the door opened.

A bleary eyed Hermione was staring at her through the crack.

"Hey, Hermione. I brought cookies. Can I come in?"

The door opened and Ginny stepped inside, looking around. There was a large orange cat on the sofa, and more than half a dozen books on the coffee table. Half a dozen mostly empty mugs were scattered on the table with the books. There didn't really seem to be anywhere to set the bag of cookies down, so Ginny held them out to Hermione with a smile and looked at her friend. The smile became pasted on her face when she got a good look at her. She'd lost weight, and there were gray circles under her eyes. Hermione took the bag from her, and Ginny pushed a bathrobe out of the way to make a space for herself to sit on the couch. Ginny had lived with six brothers most of her life. By comparison, Hermione's flat wasn't bad….but it didn't look like Hermione. "It feels like it's been forever. What's new?"

"Not much. Been reading." She picked the cat up and sat him on her lap.

Ginny did her best to maintain her equilibrium. She gave a sunny smile and wandered off to the kitchen, making herself at home. "I'll get us some tea to go with the cookies." She rummaged through the cupboards. Well, there was food in the house, so that was something. She tapped her wand to the kettle and let it fill and boil. There weren't any clean mugs, so she washed a couple that were in the sink, keeping up a chirpy chatter to Hermione. "It feels like ages since I've seen you, what with the holidays and everything. Did I tell you I'm finally starting for the Harpies?" She listened, but couldn't hear a response from Hermione. She wasn't sure if she just couldn't hear her over the water, or if her friend didn't respond. She continued. "It's the game against Puddlemere on the 17th. I've got some extra comp tickets for the friends and family box if you want to come. You could even invite someone." She didn't hear any response from Hermione, and went out to the living room with two small plates and two cups of tea. She passed a cup of tea to her friend and dished out the baked goods.

Hermione nibbled one of the cookies. "That's great news, Gin. I know you've been waiting for that for ages."

"Do you want to come to the game? I have extra tickets. We could go out for a drink afterwards."

Hermione hesitated. Sitting outside in the cold in the middle of January…probably with people that she'd been avoiding since before Christmas. She saw the look on Ginny's face.

"It would mean a lot to me."

She nodded and sipped her tea. "I'll be there."

"I'll drop tickets off tomorrow. One ticket? Two tickets?"

Hermione hesitated.

"I'll drop off two. Just in case you decide to invite someone," Ginny offered. This felt like de-Gnoming the yard—long and not very useful. "How are things at work?"

Hermione's eyes got a little brighter and she looked a little more focused, finally seeing where her friend had been edging towards. "I guess you know I quit. Who told you?"

She didn't attempt to hide it. "Mum. Someone at work told Dad and he told Mum, and…we were worried. It didn't sound like you." She glanced at the dirty mugs that had been there for days. "And this doesn't look like you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar."

"You're the second person to say that to me this week." She sipped her tea again. "I got all out of sorts around the holidays. You know how things get. Quitting seemed like a good idea. To be honest, I still think it was a good idea. I'll sort myself out, eventually."

"Why don't you come stay with me for a couple weeks? Or Mum would have you at the Burrow."

"I'll be fine, Gin. I promise. I'm not there yet. I'll get there. I'll see you at the game."

Ginny looked at her friend, not really believing her. "Do we need an unbreakable vow here?"

That did get her to crack a smile. "No vow necessary. But I'd take some help with the dishes."

"Deal."


	5. Chess Not Checkers

**Author's Note:** I'm back safe and sound after traveling last week for work. It's good to be home. Chapter 5 is here, and I feel good about how it turned out. I'm struggling a little with chapter 6, but chapter 7 is well underway, so I'm sure it will come together. I just need to mull it around in my head a little more. I'm trying to keep updating once a week. As best I can tell right now, it's looking like this will probably be close to 10-15 chapters instead of 5-10. I still don't want it to become a massive 40-60 chapter story-but I do want to give the characters time to unpack and cope with their baggage.

Thank you for all your support in writing this.

 **Author's Note 2:** Thanks to Sunshine Katz for quickly catching some typos in this, which I've now fixed.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Chess Not Checkers**

* * *

Hermione made an effort. She told herself that even if it didn't feel like keeping the coffee table clear and the dishes washed was important, it was. Even if she didn't do anything else during the day, she showered, she dressed, and she made sure the flat was reasonably tidy. She tried to make sure she ate at least once a day too. She did some reading, but mostly she couldn't seem to settle down to concentrate.

True to her word, Ginny had come by with two tickets, and reminded her she was welcome to invite someone along. Having someone else there might help create a buffer from the awkwardness Hermione was expecting. She could see from the look on Ginny's face that she must have lost weight—it wouldn't be lost on Molly. And if Molly and Arthur were worried, they'd fuss at her. Maybe she should layer up under a big coat. Or bring someone along as a distraction.

Of course, she wasn't seeing anyone right now, and Ron and Harry had likely already been given their own tickets to the match, so there wasn't much point in inviting them.

She still didn't know what she wanted to do. She couldn't seem to find the energy for much of anything. She thought about writing to McGonagall and seeing if she had any positions open, but the figurative ghosts of Hogwarts were far worse than the literal ones. It had been a long time since Hermione had been back there.

There was only one person she'd even really seen recently other than Ginny. She couldn't imagine bringing him to the match. Then again, his reaction to the invitation might be worth some entertainment in and of itself. She didn't have a lot of entertainment going on right now. There were only so many times you could reorganize your bookshelves, even if you had as many books as she did.

She wrapped a scarf around her neck and shrugged into a coat. Maybe she'd walk around Diagon Alley after she talked to Malfoy. It was probably cold out, but it wasn't too overcast. Some daylight might be a welcome change.

She Flooed to his office. For once, there was someone at the front desk, going over some forms. She was a witch a few years younger than Hermione and seemed to be reading through a number of pages and making notes. "Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment with Mister Malfoy?"

"Well, I don't…is he busy?"

"I don't think so. I'm just practicing. How did that sound?" she asked eagerly.

"Very good I suppose," Hermione said, looking at the younger woman, a bit baffled.

"Oh good. I'm so new at this." She raised her voice, "Draco? Someone is here to see you."

Draco sauntered to the door and leaned in the doorway, shaking his head. He'd been able to see Granger since she walked in. "It takes all the mystery out if you say I'm not busy. But I'll make time for her. Come on in, Granger." There was the slightest curve of a smile to his lips as he looked her over. Her hair was clean. The dark circles under her eyes weren't so bad as they had been.

Hermione followed him, looking over her shoulder once at the reception desk. The door shut behind her as she entered his office. "She's new."

Draco nodded. "Yes. She's a bit too enthusiastic. I was looking for someone to sit up front and make me look suitably important for a couple of upcoming meetings. I'm not sure she's quite right for it, but she's got a little time to practice. I hired her as a favor to my mother." He leaned against his desk and she stood awkwardly to one side, looking around the room. She was aware that the door was closed, with another person on the other side. Somehow, it felt stranger than being in the office totally alone with him as she had before. He picked up his calendar with a smug smile, "I see you couldn't bear to stay away."

"You're still tracking when I come to see you?"

He said nothing, but the smirk deepened.

Hermione huffed. He was a bit insufferable really. "If you're going to be like that, I guess I won't bother."

He arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Well, I was going to invite you along to one of your favorite activities," she said nonchalantly. She shrugged.

"And my favorite activity would be…?" He was curious. Sex? Quidditch? Dinner? They were all top contenders.

"It was really a multi-purpose event. You'd get to cause a stir, which you always enjoy. And probably bother Ron. And there'd be some Quidditch. Really, it seemed like just your thing. I supposed I could invite the girl out front, but it won't be nearly so much fun." She inspected her nails as if bored, and snuck a look up at him.

He was looking right back at her. He stepped closer. "And when exactly would this be? And where?"

"Tomorrow night. Ginny is finally getting to open a game with the Harpies. They're playing Puddlemere, and she brought me two tickets for the friends and family box."

Draco actually laughed. "An evening in a Quidditch box surrounded by Weasel's family and you thought that sounded like my idea of a good time?"

A wry smile found its way onto her face. "Can't get anything by you. I thought bringing you along might serve as a nice distraction from the inevitable 'Oh Merlin, Hermione's screwed up her life' conversation I suspect I'll be subjected to." She paused a moment and then looked at him. "You must admit, you are distracting."

There was no denying that. "I am. I could be very distracting right now as a matter of fact." He leaned in close, whispering the words against her neck.

The shiver that went through her was most…distracting. She stepped away. "But, if you don't want to be the distraction, I guess I'll have to find someone else, or stay home." She didn't need much of an excuse to stay home. "Do you think they'd let me bring Skimbleshanks to the match?"

Draco didn't even know where to begin unpacking that question, so he kissed her neck instead, just long enough to hear her make a contented sound in the back of her throat. "I don't have to go to a Quidditch match to be distracting."

She pulled herself away from him. "Does this mean you're breaking your own rule?" She moved over to his desk and idly started flipping through his calendar, curious to see if he'd really marked out the seven day point.

He came up behind her and reached around, taking the calendar and closing it and taking it from her. "No." He walked around to the far side of his desk to have a seat. He looked her over. His voice was casual as he commented, "I don't think anyone could ever accuse you of screwing up your life, you know. I'm pretty sure the whole saving the wizarding world business gives you a pass on well…pretty much anything. You could probably kick Pygmy Puffs all the way down Diagon Alley and get a medal for it."

Hermione snorted at the mental image. "You'd be surprised." She and Ron certainly hadn't cut each other any slack—saving the world didn't factor in to it. It certainly didn't make you any better at relationships. "It's not all it's cracked up to be. They stuffed me in an office with people that didn't respect me, and with no real work to do. It was like they were hanging me in the closet like a fancy coat you only need to bring out once year."

He looked at her with consideration. "Some people might think that's a reward—little work, no risk, but a long-term, safe job."

"Oh, Merlin." It made sense kind of. In a twisted way. She was rather horrified. "Do you think that's what it was supposed to be?"

Draco shrugged, "It's as good a theory as any."

She ran a hand through her hair. "Circe that's scary. They got it all wrong. I ran around for a year finding evil pieces of soul and destroying them and evading Snatchers and Death Eaters and what all. How are you supposed to move on to paperwork after that?"

"Is the problem boredom, then?" He watched her; her cheeks were flushed, her face was animated.

"How do you possibly follow up a year on the run and riding dragons and shaping the future of the world with filling out forms that no one is ever going to read?"

His mouth twitched and he started to open it. Hermione sensed a double-entendre about dragon riding on the tip of his tongue and silenced him with a look.

"Really. How was I ever supposed to adjust? It's not that I miss sleeping in a tent with no running water, or sharing it with teenage boys that didn't shower often enough, but…I felt like I was making a difference. I knew I was doing something. Now all I make is more paper." She suddenly realized that she was pacing and had been pacing in front of Malfoy's desk for some minutes.

Draco couldn't help but think she looked rather like a lion. Her hair was frizzed out. She was agitated. He almost expected her to turn around and bite his head off. And then the energy drained out of her.

"They try to reward me with an easy job and I hated it. And I quit. People are going to think there's something wrong with me." Maybe it was just as well she hadn't managed to talk Draco into coming to the match—she wasn't sure she was up to facing a whole contingent of well-meaning people right now. Admittedly not wanting to go was probably a good indication that she ought to go.

"Sit down before you collapse," he offered mildly. "If paperwork is making you miserable, I'm sure you could find a job that involves stabbing things, or setting fire to them. Or possibly getting set on fire." He looked out the window for a moment, over Hermione's shoulder. "My apothecary downstairs could use another prep person—you can grind up bezoars and slice the wings of lacewing flies to your heart's content. Not much danger, but plenty of violence."

The brunette witch sat in the guest chair in front of his desk. The idea of Malfoy as her boss didn't sound particularly appealing. Grinding and chopping might be fun. Maybe she'd brew something when she got home. It had been a while—it was so easy to just pop into an apothecary and get whatever she needed. "I'll think about it. I should probably head out." She glanced at the door back out to the reception area and then at the blond wizard. "Thanks for…thanks." She wasn't sure what she was thanking him for. But she felt better than when she walked in. She had some things to think about. She pushed back from the desk and started for the door. His voice stopped her as her hand touched the handle.

"Granger, where's my ticket to the match?"

She turned around and looked at him. "Pardon?"

He enunciated clearly, "You invited me to a Quidditch match tomorrow. Where's my ticket?"

She stared at him for a moment. She'd been pretty certain his earlier response was a solid no—truth be told, she hadn't been disappointed. She'd come for the company today, not company tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd probably stay home; Ginny would understand. "I don't have it on me."

"I'll pick you up at six then."

"The match doesn't start 'til seven."

"We could have a drink first. And you could introduce me to Skimbleshanks," he tilted his head, looking at her, daring her to say yes or no.

She eyed him, but couldn't read the expression on his face. Merlin, what would Molly say if she turned up at the match with him? Well, it might distract Molly enough to keep her from telling her to eat something. "My Floo address is Bag End. I'll see you tomorrow." She didn't wait for a response. Between one breath and the next, she'd taken herself through the door. She bid a goodbye to the girl at the desk, and went out through the fireplace.

Draco let his face relax and sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples. A Quidditch match with Weasley and Potter and Salazar knew who else. Still, Granger would be there. That thought brought a curve of a smile to his face.

Salazar. There was something about her.

* * *

Hermione had layered up. Nothing would really make her face look any less thin, except perhaps a large plate of fudge. Or several. But she'd hoped that maybe with a camisole, a sweater, and a jacket it wouldn't be too obvious. She really ought to make an effort to eat more. It just felt like a chore most days.

She wasn't sure she really believed Malfoy was coming over, but at six o'clock on the dot Malfoy appeared in her fireplace. A bottle of wine dangled from his fingers. There was a smirk on his face, and a bag in his other hand.

"What's this?"

"I brought dinner."

She stared at him for a moment. Was this a date? Despite the banter, the kisses, and her lingering desire to sleep with him, she hadn't really considered this evening a date—not that she was opposed to having one at some point. He was supposed to be a safety bumper against well-meaning but unwelcome scrutiny. Merlin, she wasn't sure she'd even brushed her hair today. Had she? She must have at some point. She was almost sure of it. She snapped out of it and gave a friendly grin. "Well, in that case, come in." She waved him towards the table and took herself into the kitchen for wine glasses and plates.

Draco sauntered to the table, with various papers spread over it and cleared a couple of places. His fingers lingered over a piece of parchment. His eyes lingered on a piece of parchment and he picked it up. If he wasn't mistaken...it was stationery from his own office. It had been folded and unfolded several times. The first part of the list was written in a dark green ink he knew he recognized.

Most of the first half of the list had been crossed out in black ink with new options written below. He arched an eyebrow, reading her tidy print. Evidently Granger had considered and dismissed a number of potential career changes including:

Hogwarts professor

Journalist

See if Flourish and Blotts is hiring?

Write text books?

Potions maker

Run for Minister of Magic?

These were all crossed out. Evidently she'd found them unsatisfactory and started considering some more high-risk careers:

Auror

Curse-breaker

Dragon keeper

Mediwitch

Inventor

Wandmaker

Muggle liaison—is this even a position? Surely, somewhere? Maybe

Hunt for exotic potions supplies?

Run a day school for young wizards and witches?

He was still reading the list when Hermione walked in with with the dinnerware. She caught him reading and he looked up with an innocent expression. "You seem to have missed several obvious choices here. I'm rather disappointed."

She rolled her eyes and sat at the table, setting the plates, knives, forks, and glasses in the two cleared spaces. "Oh, do enlighten me. It's not like I've been thinking about this relentlessly for weeks now or anything."

He rummaged through the contents of the table and pulled out a pencil, deciding it was best to add his suggestions to the sheet so she could give them serious consideration at a future time. He read them aloud as he wrote. "Quidditch referee." She chuckled at the absurdity. "Waitress or bartender at Three Broomsticks or Leaky Cauldron."

"Too many people."

"Product tester at Weasleys Wizard Wheezes."

"Oh, Merlin, I don't have a death wish."

That drew a smile from him. "That is very good to know. Really, the world is your oyster. You could become a robe maker. Or caretaker for the post office owls. And of course, you've left off the most obvious option of all. Really, it wounds me."

This one got a real laugh from her. He didn't even have to say it—she knew where he was going. "I already told you I don't want to be your secretary. Where would the fun in that be?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure we could find some time for fun."

She shook her head, but she was still chuckling, hair, frustration, and nerves at seeing the Weasleys nearly forgotten.

In short order, wine was poured, and a creamy mushroom pasta dished out from the take out bag. Skim jumped up on the table to investigate and rubbed his face against Draco's shoulder, leaving fur on his robes. When Skim moved over to sniff near Hermione's plate, Draco murmured a charm and the fur fell off his robes and onto the floor.

"Handy."

He smirked. "I told you—I'm a man of varied talents."

The food was good, and the wine was better. Hermione had laughed this evening as she hadn't in a while. She was aware of Draco's eyes studying her. She licked a bit of sauce from her lip and asked impishly, "Are you sure you want to go to the game tonight? We could test some of our…varying talents instead."

He sipped his wine. He was tempted. Salazar, was he tempted. He refrained. "When the time for that comes around—it won't be on an evening with anything else on the agenda. I couldn't possibly do my best work here if you're fretting in a little corner in the back of your mind about missing Ginny's match." He traced a fingernail over the back of her hand. "When I'm in your bed, I want to make sure I have your full attention."

She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. At least it was more sigh than whimper. She didn't doubt he could keep the promise. And would. She looked forward to it. "I suppose it's time to go then, before I decide to take matters into my own hands." She stood, leaning down to kiss him, slowly, teasing, lingering…one long kiss. She straightened and went to the bedroom to grab her bag, leaving his face flushed.

Draco took a steadying breath and glared at the cat. "What are you looking at?"

The cat did not answer.


	6. Cat Among Pigeons

**Author's Note:** I missed updating this Monday—good reason though. I had family in town! Sometimes a long talk is just what you need. This chapter doesn't cover quite as much ground as I was expecting it to. The second section I was going to add looks like it might be bigger than I was anticipating, so I'm going to go ahead and roll that into the next chapter.

Thanks for sunshine katz for the typo fixes last chapter, and thanks to viola1701e for inspiring the name for this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Cat Among Pigeons**

* * *

The match had the standard security precautions and they were let into the stadium with no fuss. Their tickets ensured that they were directed up to the Harpies' friends and family box. It was about half full.

Draco nudged Granger in the ribs. "There's another career option you didn't put on your list. Ticket taker and security for professional Quidditch matches. It wouldn't even require flying."

"Pass. I want to do something that matters."

He tutted in mock-seriousness, taking her arm in his. "Don't let any of the Weasleys hear you say that Quidditch doesn't matter."

"Oh, I've said much worse about Quidditch to most of them at one time or another."

They were nearly up the stairs, chatting amiably when someone reached out and pulled Draco's hair. He stopped short and was turning around to see who had the effrontery to pull his bleeding hair when there was an apology behind him.

"I'm so sorry about that. I don't know what got into him. Teddy, we don't do that. Say you're sorry."

Draco and Granger turned around; it felt like a bad dream. There was Potter, with a small child riding his shoulders. Draco glared at the brat momentarily, but the child didn't seem to notice.

"Malfoy? Hermione?" Potter blinked for a moment as though not trusting his eyes.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Draco's mouth. He couldn't have prevented it if he wanted to. And the truth was, he didn't really want to. Granger had promised him some entertainment after all. He snaked an arm around Granger's waist as he answered, full of the utmost civility and his best manners, "Potter, what a pleasure. I didn't expect to see you here this evening. And who is the cute little tyke?" He raised his eyes and directed his attention to Teddy. "Teddy, was it?" He offered a hand up to Teddy to shake and the little boy looked at it a bit skeptically.

"'m Teddy. Hi, Aunt Hermi'ne." At a nod from his Aunt Hermione, he shook the blond man's hand.

"My godson, Teddy Lupin," Harry clarified. There was an awkward pause for a beat and then he said, "It's good to see you, Hermione. It's been a while."

"It's good to see you too, Harry." And it was. He looked the same as ever—hair every which way. He and Teddy looked sweet together. Teddy had been living with Harry full-time now for the better part of a year since they'd lost Andromeda to dragon pox. Some things even magic couldn't cure.

"Harry, we're gon' miss the game," Teddy said, tugging Harry's hair.

Draco smiled smoothly. "I guess we all better get on upstairs. We wouldn't want to miss Ginny's first time opening for the Harpies." The Weaslette's first name felt odd on his tongue, but he said it without skipping a beat. Let Potter mull over that. He turned around, turning Granger with him, arm around her waist again as they made their way up the stairs to the box. Potter and Teddy followed behind.

Hermione may have inadvertently buried her face in Malfoy's neck for a moment to stifle her laughter as they started up the stairs. Harry's jaw had nearly hit the floor at seeing them together. She could hardly fathom what the Weasley response would be. She winced internally and hoped there weren't too many of them upstairs. She took a deep breath. She had wanted Malfoy along as a distraction. He was certainly that. And the look on his face when Teddy pulled his hair…that was priceless. That was Pensieve-worthy right there.

They made it to the top of the box and peered inside. It was about half full. Hermione could see Molly and Arthur sitting at one end of the front row. Percy and George were behind them. Ron and Susan were next to his parents. Ron looked slightly uncomfortable as his mother chatted animatedly with his girlfriend, who seemed to be politely responsive, but a lot less animated.

Hermione was just trying to decide where to sit when Molly saw her and stopped mid-sentence. There was brief smile, and then her mouth gaped open like a fish for a moment, her previous train of thought having disappeared into the ether. Hermione could almost hear the thoughts—oh, Hermione, I'm so glad to see her, oh my Merlin, what is that Death Eater doing here? Hermione tried not to grimace and managed a polite smile and a wave and nudged Malfoy to the second row, hissing, "We'll sit by Percy."

"What? No sense of adventure?" Draco murmured. He smiled politely at the Weasleys and, ignoring Hermione's attempts to get him into the safer, second row, he took a seat down front right next to Ronald Weasley.

Hermione's eyes could have burned holes in the back of Draco's head as he took his seat and she followed next to him. Beware what you wish for—you might just get it. Harry and Teddy followed, sitting up by Percy and George. Looking to draw attention anywhere else, Hermione leaned over her seat back and looked at Percy. "Are Bill and Charlie coming?"

"Charlie's in Romania again, he couldn't make it. There's a hatching going on, and the mother dragon was sick….I think. Bill and Fleur are supposed to be here." He looked around for a moment, as if disproving of the fact that they weren't there yet. He turned his attention back to her. "I was sorry to hear you're taking a leave of absence from the Ministry, Hermione. It does us all good to get away once in a while."

She knew her boss—ex-boss—would try to cover it for a while if he could. Hermione smiled sweetly. "It's not a leave of absence, whatever Collins may be saying. I quit. I won't be going back."

George, on Percy's other side, piped down to her. "Hermione, that can't be who I think it is, so you're going to have to introduce me to whoever really is sitting next to you."

"It's exactly who you think it is," Ron said drily. His teeth were a little gritted, but he otherwise didn't show any sign of outward anger. He didn't look at Malfoy. Several years as an Auror had cooled his reflexive temper. Wait and see. Read the situation. Nail him if you could prove something—if you couldn't prove it, watch him until he slipped up. The courts had exonerated Malfoy at the end of the war—too young to really know what he was doing, saved Harry, blah blah blah. Ron hadn't totally bought it. The younger Malfoy had gotten off entirely, and the elder one had really only gotten a slap on the wrist. Draco and Narcissa's saving of Harry's life had bought them a get out of Azkaban free card, but someone had to take the fall for putting them in that position to begin with. Ron took a steadying breath and put his arm around Susan.

Draco turned his head to try and respond to all the Weasleys at once, smiling. He'd perfected the art of being perfectly pleasant and polite; it was the most aggravating thing you could do to someone who just wanted an excuse to give you a good jinx or a punch in the face. "I do love a good match. Puddlemere has a strong Keeper, but their offense could be better. The Harpies have a good chance." Mirroring Weasley's gesture, he put an arm around Hermione.

Hermione prayed for the match to start. There was what felt like a deafening silence in their corner of the box, while normal noises of conversation and snacking went on around them.

Molly and Arthur made polite greetings to Hermione and a half-hearted hello to Draco. It didn't escape Hermione's notice that Molly kept shooting her concerned looks.

Bill came in shortly before the match started and took a seat next to Harry and Teddy, telling everyone that Fleur sent her best wishes, but their sitter for Victoire fell through at the last moment.

"That's a shame. I bet Victoire would have enjoyed the match."

"She's young—she doesn't have the patience for a game this long yet. And at that age it's good to get them to bed at the same time every night." He looked a little thoughtfully at Harry and Teddy; he doubted Teddy could sit through the match.

The good news was, the game started and the talking died down. While Mrs. Weasley was still shooting Hermione some concerned looks, she also had an eye on the pitch and was shouting Ginny's name and other such encouraging remarks.

Hermione sat stiffly next to Malfoy for the first ten minutes, watching the match, hyper-aware of the silent judgement she felt being passed on her. Maybe she should have come alone after all.

Draco started rubbing his fingers over the top of her arm and leaned in. "Just breathe. Watch the game. No bloodshed. It's okay," he murmured in her ear.

His breath was warm, and Hermione relaxed against him a little, breathing deep.

By the time Ginny had scored the first goal of the game—well, Hermione hadn't forgotten the disgruntled Weasleys around her, but she could fairly comfortably ignore them for the moment.

Someone came along selling snacks a little while later, and Draco bought her a cauldron cake and lemonade. The match was running close so far, but there'd been no sign of the Snitch yet. There was a general groan and wince from the crowd as a Bludger hit one of the Puddlemere Chasers hard enough to possibly break his arm.

A time out was called as the medics went over to check on him.

Hermione took the opportunity to get up and find the ladies' room. She would have preferred not to—she suspected one or more Weasley was going to follow her the moment she got up. She wasn't wrong.

Molly was only a few steps behind her as she emerged out on the stairs heading towards the ladies room. Molly bided her time, washing her hands and checking her face in the mirror while Hermione was in the stall. She waited until she came out and washed her hands to start expressing her motherly concern and give her a hug.

"Oh, Hermione, it's so good to see you. It feels like it's been ages hasn't it? I hope you know that you're still welcome at the house. Susan doesn't change that in the least."

"I know, Mrs. Weasley." Really, why would Susan change anything? She and Ron had only been dating for so many months. Hermione and Ron had broken up years ago now. Feeling like she had to say something, anything, she added. "I appreciate it. I've just needed a little space lately, that's all."

Molly gave her a studying look, as if she knew how many vegetables Hermione had eaten recently and whether or not she'd gotten enough sleep.

"We'd better get back to the game. I'm sure the medics are done. I wouldn't want to miss Ginny scoring again." Hermione started out of the room, and Molly followed.

The red-haired matron stuck close by her, unwilling to let the opportunity pass. Seeing her on that Malfoy boy's arm had her wondering if her Imperius theory hadn't been so far-fetched after all. "Hermione, dear, I was a little surprised to hear that you've left the Ministry. It doesn't really seem like you."

Well, at least she's not asking if I'm eating or sleeping, Hermione thought. "I just felt it was time for a change. I wasn't really going anywhere in that department. I'd like something a little more…active." Just keep heading down the steps…back to the box…

"Dear, do you remember the first Christmas you spent with us? It was your sixth year wasn't it? I missed having you around this year."

Oh Merlin. Was that the game? "Actually, Mrs. Weasley, I didn't spend Christmas with you sixth year. Ron was dating Lavender Brown. Fifth year was the first year I spent Christmas with the family—at Grimmauld Place, not the Burrow. I took the Knight Bus."

Molly twisted her hand in her robes for a moment, out of sight. Not a Polyjuice potion, and not likely under the Imperius curse either if her recollection was so clear. They were nearly back at the box. She held out a hand to stop her, and met her eyes. "Of course. I must have forgotten. Hermione, if there is ever anything you need to talk about, anything bothering you, anyone trying to hurt you…you can always come talk to Arthur and I. We'll always be there for you. You know that, right, dear?"

Hermione's irritation lessened a little. Molly and Arthur were good people. She let out a breath. She had planned to brush off the concern and say she was fine, but it was hard to lie to Molly Weasley (as all her children knew too well). "I know that, Mrs. Weasley. I know. I just need some space right now to sort some things out. I'll be okay. I promise."

"Do stop by for tea one day soon. Any day. The door is always open."

"I'll remember that. And I'll try." She made herself promise she would. It'd been a little senseless to think she could distract Molly with Malfoy on her arm. If anything, it was like a blaring beacon. She squeezed Molly's hand and went back down into the box to find him.

* * *

As soon Hermione and Molly had cleared the box, George had good-naturedly tapped Susan on the top of her head. "Oi. Aren't you going too? I thought girls always went to the loo in teams."

Susan chuckled and smiled. "All sorts of terrible things happen in bathrooms—giant trolls, cursed necklaces. I think I'll take my chances here."

Arthur's eyes had followed his wife and Hermione as they had left the box. He reached over and patted Susan's hand. He doubted trolls played into her decision to stay in her seat at all—far better to be away from both Hermione and Molly if something was on the horizon. "Smart move."

Draco turned his seat a little. The medics were still busy deciding whether or not Rangewell would return to the game. "Do you think they'll penalize the Beater over it?" He directed the question at George.

George had been considering the same point. "It was a clean shot and Rangewell had the Quaffle. No reason to penalize the Harpies over it. Unfortunate accident, but fair play." He looked down at the blond wizard, nose up-turned. "You still look a bit like a ferret, you know," he said conversationally.

Draco did not rise to the bait. "Brains, wealth, charm. I suppose I couldn't win everything."

Teddy started bouncing up and down in his seat and stood up on it. "Is it over now? Are we going out for ice cream?"

"No, Teddy. That wizard is hurt. They'll start playing again soon."

"Oh." He sat down again.

Bill did his best to hide an I-told-you-so expression, while Harry rummaged in his pocket for some crackers to distract him. He didn't doubt by the end of the match, Teddy would probably be asleep.

There was a moment of silence as no one really knew what else to say. Draco almost dared any of them to say anything—he just smiled pleasantly.

Draco Malfoy. Merlin, what was Hermione doing here with him? Arthur was wondering if there was any reasonable question he could possibly ask. He was surprised at how restrained Ron was being—he'd hardly acknowledged the other wizard's existence.

While Arthur was still looking for something to say, Susan leaned around to look at Draco and asked, "Have you and Hermione been seeing each other long?"

"A month or so," Draco said casually. He wondered if Granger was going to kill him for implying that they were dating. Oh well. She'd promised him he'd have fun. "We ran into each other and one thing led to another. Have you met her new cat yet? He's quite playful."

Susan was every inch the Auror, reserved, watching. "Not yet. I'm afraid I'm rather allergic."

And you didn't even know she had a cat, Draco thought to himself. Come on, say it, Weasley…

Ron showed surprise. "She's got a cat? She hasn't had one since Crookshanks. She was all torn up about him. I hated that cat. He tried to kill my rat."

"Your rat was a disguised murderer," Potter muttered. "Can we talk about something less violent?" He gave a meaningful look in Teddy's direction.

"Looks like the match is starting back up," offered Percy.

"Oh yes, Quidditch, much less violent," Draco drawled, turning his attention back to the match. The commentator announced that Rangewell was expected to make a full recovery but would be sitting out the rest of the match as a precaution.

George said idly, "I think Alicia could have gone pro if she wanted. She said it wouldn't feel the same without Angelina and Katie though."

Hermione and Molly came back into the box and squeezed into their seats. Draco wasted no time in getting an arm around her and pulling her close. She whispered in his ear, "Have fun?"

"Oodles. Glad you didn't get murdered by a troll or anything."

"Hard to have a close call like that twice in one lifetime." She settled against him to watch the match.

Once or twice, Draco caught Arthur staring at them out of the corner of his eyes. Conversation during the match was at a minimum. They cheered as Ginny scored another goal. There was a streak of flying robes as Puddlemere's seeker went after the Snitch, with the Harpies' Seeker close behind. They were shoulder to shoulder, nearly colliding with the stands when the Puddlemere Seeker pulled up.

He didn't have the snitch.

The Harpies' Seeker's leg scraped the side of the stands. She came up out of her dive. She didn't have the Snitch.

"Damn," muttered Harry.

"Well, not everyone can accidentally swallow the Snitch and win a match, Potter," Draco drawled.

Harry looked down at him. "No, everyone can't. Some people could have the Snitch practically in their ear and miss it."

Draco narrowed his eyes, but didn't look up at Potter. He kept his arm around Hermione. There was a beat of silence.

"And some of us are smart enough not to risk our necks on a flying twig in the first place," Hermione said mildly. "But it's entertaining to watch other people do it."

The only one who laughed was Percy.

A slow smile spread across Draco's face and he kissed her neck for a moment before pulling her close again as they settled in for the rest of the game.

Teddy fussed a bit for a while, and eventually curled up in Harry's lap and went to sleep. He woke up when the stands broke into cheers as the Harpies got the Snitch. "Is it time for ice cream?"

"No, buddy. Time for bed. Ginny's team won."

"They won, we should get ice cream." Five year old logic.

The Harpies did a victory lap around the pitch, waving to their fans. The Weasley corner cheered as the Harpies streamed by. Ginny was grinning, seeing their faces. And as she went passed Hermione, her head turned around for a moment.

Draco smirked.

In another beat, Ginny was gone, having to follow the team.

Hermione stood. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm beat. I think I'm going to call it a night. Good to see you all." She hesitated. She wanted to ask Bill something…but not in front of everyone. "Bill, give my best to Victoire and Fleur." She started off towards the exit, Draco close behind.

"Hermione, dear, you won't forget what I said?" called Molly.

"I won't, Mrs. Weasley." She didn't turn around.

Draco couldn't resist one last charming tease at the Weasley clan. "Lovely seeing you all tonight. Maybe we'll do this again sometime." He followed Hermione out into the stairwell with the other fans from the box who were leaving.

Harry and stood up with Teddy and had him resting against one shoulder for the moment. George finally let loose. "What the bloody hell was all that about?"

Ron let out a breath. "I don't know. But I'm going to find out." He hadn't missed the look on his sister's face. Whatever this was was news to her too. That probably wasn't a good sign.


	7. Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble

**Author's Note:** Hello, all. I'm excited about this chapter. I'm also excited to tell you that the fabulous Sunshine Katz had agreed to beta this story for me—so you should be seeing far fewer typos. I know I get a little overenthusiastic about posting the new chapters and don't tend to proofread them quite as thoroughly as I should, so this should help improve the silly mistakes I make when my fingers can't keep up with my brain. I have re-posted the first six chapters with corrections.

I also wanted to let you know…I've got jury duty today, so any reviews that come through that I can read on my breaks will brighten up what will otherwise be a very boring day.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble**

* * *

It took Ginny a few days to find Malfoy's office. Their circles didn't exactly overlap much, and while the apothecary was right on the street, his name wasn't anywhere near it and his third floor business tended to be more of a word of mouth operation.

She was surprised to find that of all people, Ron had been able to find out where he was stationing himself. Maybe she didn't give her brother enough credit. He had been doing the Auror thing for years now. She entered through the Floo connection and stalked into the office without preamble.

"Where are you, you ferret-faced snake?" She looked around and found she was standing in an empty reception area. Dramatic entrance totally wasted.

A voice drawled from the inner office, "Do come in, it's not as if I'm busy working or anything.

Maybe her entrance wasn't quite wasted anyway. "What the hell were you doing to Hermione? You were all over her."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm astonished you had time to see anything. I would have thought you'd have been quite busy scoring goals and stealing the Quaffle. That one fellow from Puddlemere with the glasses had quite a few fumbles didn't he?" He kept his voice conversational, cool in the face of her anger.

She took a breath. Calm. "Ron and Harry said you were all over her, not to mention Mum and Dad."

"That's just absurd. I never laid a finger on your parents." He shuddered and didn't have to fake revulsion at the idea.

Ginny was not amused. "You know what I'm talking about."

"We were in public. We were hardly doing anything indecent, Weaslette. We were watching your match. I do believe you gave her two tickets and told her that she ought to bring a guest." He was sitting behind his desk, documents in front of him. He had been working. He kept his voice calm and measured. He'd half been expecting someone to turn up this week—he'd wagered to himself that the Weaslette was more likely than Potter or Weasley, though he'd had the odd thought that the mama lion might also put in an appearance. So far Weaslette was the only one who had turned up. "Why don't you just tell me what exactly you think is going on here?"

The Weaslette's face was nearly as red as her hair. "Hermione is going through some things right now. She's vulnerable. She doesn't need a quick shag. She needs a friend. You're taking advantage of her. You need to stay the hell away from her." Her fingers twitched as though she was itching for her wand.

Draco's composure cracked. His voice was cold. "What the bloody hell do you think I've been doing?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? Wormed her way into her bed when she was lonely and desperate and feeling like crap?" She was leaning forward against the desk, looking at him as if she wished looks could kill.

Butter would not have melted in his mouth. He met her eyes and enunciated clearly. "I have not shagged her. I've been the only friend she's had for the last month. Where the bloody hell have you lot been when she needed you?"

Ginny's mouth gaped. A month? Hermione had been seeing him for a _month?_ She tried to gauge his face and got nowhere. It seemed unlikely that Malfoy would lie about _not_ having sex with someone. But what was he playing at here? "What are you talking about? What do you know?"

Draco gripped the quill in his hand until it snapped. He really ought to try fountain pens. Less easy to destroy. Breathe. He'd been expecting this confrontation after all. He just hadn't really planned what he was going to say. "I know that Hermione Granger has not been in a good place, for a long time. I don't know how long. But I know that if you all actually gave a damn about her and paid any attention, you would have noticed before I did. Gryffindors." He said it like curse word. "Acting like you're so bleeding loyal, when you're too wrapped up in your own lives to notice your best friend is _drowning_. Some friend you are."

She didn't meet his eyes. "What do you know about friendship? You never had friends. You had lackeys."

Draco stood up from his chair, making use of his full height. He casually put his hands in his pockets, warning her, "Don't talk about what you don't know." Slytherins had to watch out for each other. No one else would watch out for them.

Ginny was slightly unnerved by his intensity, but she wasn't backing down. "You just stay away from her. I mean it."

"I give a damn about her. I'm not going away anytime soon. But I'd like you all to get off your asses and act like friends. She deserves better ones than you're being. Now, I have work to do. Please excuse me."

The Weaslette didn't move.

"What now?" He asked, exasperated. "Surely, it's not a hardship to go out and be a good friend to the girl who helped save your life, who saved the life of your worthless brother and your precious Potter times beyond count? I have work to do."

Ginny's fingers flexed again as if trying to decide whether to wrap themselves around her wand. Or maybe his neck. Strangling him to death might be satisfying. "I'm trying to decide whether it's worth Bat Bogey hexing you; I doubt you'd report me for it, but if you did it could make complications with Gemma. I haven't decided if it's worth it or not yet."

He sighed, thoroughly bored with her. "Well, be aware there's a shielding spell up around this desk and any hex you fling at me will be bouncing straight back at you."

"I'm going to tell Hermione about this."

He laughed at her. "You're going to tell Hermione what? That I asked you to be a better friend? Wow. What a threat." He dropped his gaze and picked up one of the pieces of parchment to read over. Maybe he didn't need a receptionist. Maybe he needed a bodyguard out front instead. There were probably former Aurors looking for that sort of work. Admittedly, most of them probably wouldn't choose to work for him, but he could probably make a tempting enough offer—it's not like they got a great retirement plan from the Ministry after all. He added it to his mental to do list to check into.

He was right. What the hell was she supposed to say to Hermione? Draco Malfoy told me he's _not_ shagging you and I'm worried? Circe's tits. She was fairly certain Malfoy'd written the letter at New Year—it was the only thing that made any sense. But how was that any more damning than anything else? She'd just have to keep her vigilance up and keep an eye on her friend. "I'll be watching you."

"I'll do my best to continue being beautiful and interesting to watch. Out. Now." He flapped a dismissive hand at her.

* * *

The smell of simmering herbs filled the flat and made Hermione's hair stand on end—not that it really needed much encouragement to do that on a good day. A thin purple haze hung over the cauldron.

Trying to add some structure to her days, she'd started brewing potions a few days ago. She got up in the morning, and brewed until she made herself break for lunch. In the first couple days she'd filled out her cupboard of potions she liked to keep on-hand.

She started brewing some Pepperup potion with a thought to sending it to Hogwarts. After a couple of batches of that, she owled McGonagall to say she had some time on her hands and would be happy to make some potions for the school if she had any requests.

McGonagall had replied at once with a list, and an invitation for tea. Hermione declined the invitation, but started brewing Draught of Peace, Dreamless Sleep Potion, and a minor calming draught. Even several years after the end of the war…there were still students at Hogwarts who lived through it. Students who still had nightmares.

Ginny had stuck her head in the fireplace a couple nights this week and asked if she wanted to go out for a drink. Hermione had declined. She was waiting to hear back from the letters she'd written to Charlie and Bill, biding her time.

She was also conscious of the fact that it had been six days since she'd seen Malfoy. Their kiss at the end of the Quidditch match lingered in her mind.

He'd walked her to the Apparation point and whispered in her ear that he'd had fun. He kissed her until the people behind them in line told them they needed to get a move on or get out of line. He had just smirked at her and said, "Another time," and they'd gone their separate ways.

She wanted to see him again. The teasing touches. The fierce kisses. The laughter. Just talking.

She chewed her bottom lip. Of course the problem was, they'd been teasing one another now for nearly a month. What if she actually waited a week and went to see him again and it really was all just a tease? A drawn out joke between them?

Waiting a week and calling his bluff would have ruined it.

Merlin. She wasn't a second year. She was too old for this "Does he like-me-like-me?" nonsense.

It didn't make it feel any less unnerving. A month ago she might have thought wanting to sleep with Draco Malfoy was an emotional low point, but now? He was smart. He was funny. He was sexy. He was an amazing kisser. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. Aside from the fact that he spent the better part of a decade bullying her, and joined the Death Eaters, really, what wasn't there to like?

She gave herself a mental shake and fixed herself some tea. Skim looked up at her from near her feet and meowed. She poured a bit of cream into a saucer for him. "So I enjoy Malfoy's company. So what? That's not a crime. People change after all." She had changed—once a shining star of the dream team, saving the world—now unemployed and spending her days talking to her cat and brewing free potions.

The worst part was she didn't know what she wanted to do. She wanted to feel like she was doing something that mattered. Anything that mattered. Hunting through the kitchen she found her list. She'd crossed off all of Malfoy's suggestions days ago. Mostly what was left was the middle sections of her list. Things where she might be doing something other than paperwork day in and day out—she hoped. She was going to be sorely disappointed if Bill told her that 90% of curse-breaking turned out to be writing a detailed report about how the amulet had been enchanted by wizards of centuries past.

She finished her tea and levitated Skim's empty saucer to the sink. The Dreamless Sleep potion was done and she vanished the flames that had been heating the cauldron.

She bottled the potion in regulation sized bottles and got it packed in with the rest of the potions she'd made in the last few days. Maybe she ought to take the whole lot down to the post office in Diagon Alley…

In short order, she'd put on a fresh set of robes and taken herself off to Diagon Alley. She hadn't used the post office there often, but it was handy if you wanted to transport more material than a single owl could carry at once. She sent off the potions. As she left she checked the window to see if there was a sign indicating they were looking to hire. No sign. Oh darn. It looks like feeding owls and vanishing owl poop wasn't in the career pipeline for her. Such a shame.

She started down the street. She hesitated only a minute outside the apothecary before going in. She went to the counter and advised the young man behind it that she had a meeting upstairs with Draco Malfoy.

"Normally, most of his clients come through the Floo connection upstairs."

"I was in the neighborhood already."

"If he's expecting you, I suppose it's all right then. Take the staircase just off to the left back here."

Hermione smiled and walked behind the counter to the staircase and took the stairs to the third floor. The door was unlocked and she went in. The reception area was empty. No cheerful witch at the desk. It was quiet.

She didn't see any sign of a meeting going on in the conference room. Draco's door was open. She went in without preamble. He was at his desk, hands behind his head, a smirk on his face, legs stretched out before him under the desk.

"You don't seem surprised to see me."

Draco shrugged. He knew how long it'd been since they'd seen one another. He was half-expecting to see her today if Weaslette hadn't scared her off. And—he resisted the urge to smirk—really, what could the Weaslette say about him that would scare her off that she didn't already know? Oh, sure he had some secrets, but one benefit to knowing someone since you were eleven—they had a pretty good idea of who you were already.

"What? Nothing else to say?" she asked.

He smiled. "You came to me. I thought I'd let you do the talking. Unless of course you had something more interesting in mind." He looked her over.

She settled down in the guest chair in front of his desk and crossed her legs. "I was just in the neighborhood. I thought I'd let you know I did look into some of your suggestions for my next career move."

"Oh?"

"Yes, the post office isn't hiring at the moment."

"That's a shame." He leaned across the desk, hands folded in front of him.

"Isn't it?" There were stacks of parchment all around him on the desk. He probably really did need to hire someone else full time; she just didn't want it to be her. He could get someone else to push his papers. She'd rather push his buttons. "Can't get too interesting today anyway. Unless…you're willing to break your rule."

"Still tracking the days?" He raised an eyebrow, and grinned at her.

"Evidently so are you."

He stood up and walked the around the desk, moving behind her. He trailed both hands up her biceps and leaned down, breathing in the scent of her hair as he moved down to kiss her neck. Her hair smelled like an apothecary, but her robes were fresh. Her head tilted to one side, increasing his access. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat as he trailed his kisses down the side of her neck, and across her shoulder, pulling her robe a little askew to bare it. He kissed his way back up and whispered in her ear, "There's plenty of interesting things to do that don't break the rules."

She licked her lips and turned her head, twisting in the chair to kiss him on the lips. She broke away. "Not quite as good as last week. Maybe I should stop trying," she said breathlessly.

He chuckled and moved quickly, leaning himself against the desk. He reached out and pulled her out of the seat, facing him. "Better?"

"Maybe. Let's see what you've got," she teased. She felt him wrap both arms around her waist, pulling her close. Chest to chest, they kissed; one of his hands left her waist and rested on her ass. Standing between his legs, she tangled her fingers in his hair. She heard him groan softly as they broke apart. "Much better."

He brought one hand up to the side of her face and planted one more relatively chaste kiss on her lips. He held her there against him, one hand on her cheek, one on her hip. "So you were just in the neighborhood and thought you'd stop by?"

"I owled some potions off to McGonagall. Chopping things up and setting fire to them really is quite therapeutic."

"And yet you still don't want to work at my apothecary? I pay well enough."

"Nope." She breathed deeply. He smelled good.

He adjusted himself, sitting on the desk rather than leaning on it, giving her a little more space. "The most important thing in the office is to have a very sturdy desk."

"I can see where that would come in handy." She studied him; face flushed, hair disheveled. It was a good look on him. It didn't hurt that she was the one who got him that way.

He toyed with her hair for a moment and then rested his hand on the desk beside him. "And now that hellos are out of the way…how was your week? Did the Weasleys descend on you en masse to see if you'd lost your mind?"

She chuckled. "I think Molly thought I might have been under the Imperius Curse, but I set her straight. She wants me to come over for tea—an open invitation anytime. Ginny came by the other night and invited me out, but I wasn't up for it. I was finally making progress on this book on the invention of sentient portraits. I picked it up weeks ago and was having a hard time getting into it."

"And?" He grinned.

"And I finished it last night."

Normal Granger reading-appetite back, check. "Did the Weaslette say anything when she came by? I thought she was going to fall out of the sky when she saw us at the match."

There was a wry smile on Hermione's face. "I didn't exactly give her much of a chance."

He chuckled. "I'm sure that went over well."

She shrugged. Ginny meant well. And it was nice that she had come by to check on her. She just hadn't wanted to go out when she finally managed to lose herself in a book for the first time in ages. "I'll make it up to her later."

Draco nodded, slightly distracted by how close she was. He rubbed his thumb over her waist, hand still on her hip. "So what's with the rugrat Potter was toting around?"

Hermione smiled, a little sadly. "Teddy is Harry's godson. He's been raising him full-time for the last year since his grandmother died."

Draco mused, trying to remember the little boy's last name. Potter had said it. "Teddy…Lupin. Lupin, our Defense professor from third year?"

She nodded. "You're related to him, you know. Not Remus, but Teddy. He's your aunt's daughter's son."

Doing some quick relationship untangling in his head, Draco concluded, "My aunt's dead?"

"Andromeda Tonks."

There was a pause. "I don't think I ever met her." Even estranged, he didn't doubt his mother knew that her sister was dead. His mother was the sort who liked to know things. He filed the information away; it was something to discuss with her later.

"Remus and Tonks—your cousin—were good people. They didn't survive the Battle." There was a slight hitch in her voice. "I hadn't seen Harry in a while until the match. It was good to see him."

Draco's grip on her hip might have increased fractionally without meaning to. "He's been too busy?"

She shrugged. "It's not just him. When you're not all tucked into the same dorm together you have to make an effort. I…stopped." Trying to explain the headspace she'd been in would take hours she didn't want to spend. Or maybe not. She met his eye. "The dead on the inside was leaking out. I felt a bit too contagious to be around anyone."

He pressed his forehead against hers and said quietly, "You don't look contagious to me." They stood there quietly for a moment. Draco was sorely tempted to take her upstairs and wrap his arms around her for the next ten or twenty hours. Not yet. He pulled himself together mentally and then pulled back from her, looking at the clock. "Nearly teatime. Care to go out with me for a bite?"

Hermione started to straighten her robes, not looking at him for a moment, backing up a few inches to give herself some room. She hesitated.

He drawled, "Unless you'd rather go have tea with Molly Weasley? I suppose we could always do that. I bet she'd be delighted to see me."

That actually brought a laugh from her. The thought of taking Draco Malfoy to tea at the Burrow…oh, Merlin. She could hardly imagine. "I think I'll pass on that one for now."

He looked at her innocently. "You didn't have fun the other night?"

"Well, if your definition of fun includes sitting awkwardly with a bunch of people I care about who think I've lost my mind—"

"Oh, it does," he quipped.

"—then I suppose I did have fun." And she did…in a backwards, kind of way. The awkward questions from Molly hadn't been the highlight of her evening, but it was good to see them all. And to laugh. And it felt like ages since she had seen Teddy. She didn't want him to forget his Aunt Hermione. Maybe she ought to offer to babysit soon and give Harry a break from it all for a night. "I'm never going to forget the look on your face when Teddy pulled your hair, you know."

"And I'm not going to forget the look on Potter's face when he realized who we were. Though to be honest, I'm astounded that Weasley actually seems to have finally learned some self-control. I would have lost Galleons on a bet that he was going to at least attempt to attack me."

Hermione pushed her hair back behind her ears. "He's been an Auror for nearly five years now. He's gotten a grip on playing by the rules. He can't curse you first…not without a really good reason. Besides, it's not like he has feelings for me anymore. It's been years. It's not like Ron's had it out with anyone else I—" She broke off. There really was no good way to end that sentence. Never mind that she really didn't have a word for what she and Malfoy were doing or weren't doing. "You want to go out for that tea? Not the Burrow— _anywhere_ else."

Draco smirked. "I know just the spot. But you're a little informally dressed." He put his fingertips to the handle of his wand. "May I?"

She rolled her eyes. "Make it red this time."

"But green is such a good color on you…" Still smirking, Draco unsheathed his wand and transfigured her robes into something more upscale. He took her by the hand and twirled her around. The dress was slinky, with the barest hint of a flame pattern near the hem. It was almost too good to waste on afternoon tea. "Let's go."

They stopped to look in the mirror on their way out. Draco's hair was sticking up in the back and hers looked even more wild than normal. He escorted her to the fireplace. He knew just the place for a seven course tea. Usually hard to get in, but he had no doubt they'd find him a table no matter how busy they might be.


	8. Friends are the Family You Pick

**Author's Note:** I survived jury duty. This chapter took me a few days longer to write than I was expecting, but I'm hoping to get back to weekly updating. Thank you to everyone for all your support while Hermione takes this journey. And thank you to Sunshine Katz for beta-ing; any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Friends are Family You Pick**

* * *

The letter had arrived that morning, and Hermione had read it through more than once. The envelope was currently on the floor, being batted around by Skim; he had decided it was hugely entertaining.

It had taken long enough for him to write back to her, though he didn't say much. Still, it was progress. She jotted out a response to Bill and agreed to meet him for lunch.

The letter from Charlie had been significantly longer. He loved what he did and wrote enthusiastically about it for two pages. Now wasn't a good time, but they might be able to work something out in a couple of weeks—he'd get back to her.

"Skim, why don't you leave it alone?"

The cat ignored her—as cats generally do—and continued to bat the envelope around. She sighed. Her head was a lot less fuzzy these days. The haze had lifted. But she still had no idea what she wanted—and she had hours and hours of time to fill and think about how she didn't know what she wanted. It wasn't a great combination.

She was just starting to think about fixing something for dinner when there was a call at the fireplace.

"Hey, Hermione," said a familiar voice.

Hermione wandered towards the fireplace, where her friend's head was sticking out at knee level. She squatted down beside her. "Hi, Gin."

"Do you want to come out? I was going to go get a bite to eat. Maybe grab a drink."

Hermione looked at her friend's face. "Why don't you come over here instead? I'll make something. It will probably be better than pub food."

A genuine smile broke out on the redhead's face. "Deal." She ducked her head back in the fireplace and Hermione backed away to give her room to come in.

She left out a breath. If Ginny was getting this excited about coming over and having Hermione cook her dinner…she must have been really worried about her. She really should have seen her sooner. Or at least talked to her when she stuck her head in the fireplace last time. She promised to try and do better and moved off into the kitchen to see what she actually had available to cook.

The fireplace roared and Ginny followed Hermione into the kitchen. Her hair was wet and dripped a little on the tiles. "Sorry about that. I thought it would be less disgusting if I showered after practice. I hate using a spell on it—it makes it dry at about three times its normal size."

"So it would look like mine," Hermione teased.

"Merlin, it's good to see you smile." Ginny had opted not to say anything to Hermione about Draco's note. She'd spun it around every way she could think of. There was no way it came out making Malfoy look bad. _Hermione, Malfoy wrote me a note saying you were sad; sorry it took a month to respond._ Or… _Hermione, I went to accuse Malfoy of taking advantage of you and he told me that he's not sleeping with you; is that true?_ There was really no way whatsoever that this came out well. He wrote a note telling her something she should have already known—it wasn't a crime. Still, she was going to keep an eye on things.

Hermione buried her head in the cupboard, rummaging around for something edible. "I know it's been a little rough lately. Thanks for sticking by me."

"You know where to find me. Anytime." She hesitated. "I feel like I should have been around more."

Hermione pulled a box of pasta and a jar of sauce out of the cupboard and looked in the fridge. There was some chicken in there that still smelled okay. She got out a saucepan and frying pan and started to cook. "It's not like I was in much of a mood to hang out; you did offer. I know you're always here for me."

Ginny nodded and looked around. "Can I help with anything?"

Hermione set her to work chopping onions and garlic while she started on the chicken. The onions and garlic would at least wake up her grocery store tomato sauce a little. They chatted amiably while Hermione cooked. Ginny told her that Gemma was pleased with her first game as a starter.

"There is nothing like flying. You really ought to give it another go. You might enjoy it."

The brunette witch snickered. "No thanks. If I am going to fly it's going to be in a giant metal aircraft that's been through rigorous safety testing and includes a seatbelt." She'd taken Ginny on the tube to Heathrow once and shown her the planes.

"That's so…Muggle. You _know_ magic works, and you'd still rather get on something so big it doesn't look like it should ever get off the ground at all?"

"But, funnily enough, they do get off the ground—every day, all over the world. And I can close the window so I don't have to see the ground rushing past—can't do that on a broom. Dinner's ready."

They dished out the pasta and chicken and took it to the table. Ginny did have to concede the point about the window—but nothing would convince her to get up in an airplane. She saw the letter from Bill on the table. "You want to be a Curse-Breaker?"

Hermione shrugged, a little embarrassed. "I don't really know. I want to do something else. Anyway, Bill and I are going to get together. I had some questions."

Ginny started to dig into her dinner. "So you're not going back to the Ministry?"

"Absolutely not. That is the one thing I do know clearly." Skim approached the table and meowed pitifully. Hermione stared down at him severely and did not give him any chicken. "You just had your dinner. Let me have mine."

The conversation ambled along until their plates were nearly empty. "I saw you made use of the extra ticket."

Hermione grimaced. "You caught that did you?"

The redhead laughed. "I didn't notice 'til I was doing my flyby at the end of the match. I was a little preoccupied before that." She paused, wondering if Hermione was going to say anything. When no more information seemed to be forthcoming she continued, "That was a bit…unexpected."

Hermione wasn't sure how to explain it. Malfoy was…Malfoy. She didn't really feel like she _owed_ anyone an explanation, but the look on Ginny's face made her think maybe it wouldn't hurt. "We ran into each other and got to talking a few weeks ago. He's surprisingly easy to be around."

"But he's so…Malfoy."

Shrugging, Hermione gathered up the plates and walked them into the kitchen. " _Malfoy_ isn't necessarily bad then. He makes me laugh." _And have some rather impure thoughts…_ "Anyway, I've had a lot of time on my hands recently; sometimes you need a little change of scenery."

Ginny hurried after her, bringing their glasses. "I wasn't trying to—" Judge? Mock? Oh Merlin. She had no idea how to end this sentence.

Hermione took a couple of deep breaths while she scrubbed the plates. "I know it's weird. Your mum thought I might be under a curse or something. I'm not—I just needed…" Merlin, she didn't want to hurt Ginny's feelings when she was trying so hard.

"A friend?"

She chided herself. Just say it. If you couldn't talk to Ginny, who could you talk to? She suspected the answer to that was a certain blond wizard. "Something like that. I think the fact that we weren't close like you and I are…maybe that made it a little easier to talk to him when I needed someone to talk to. I'm sure your whole family thinks I've gone off the deep end. Even now your dad might be getting ready to try and get me committed to St. Mungo's."

Ginny took the plates and dried them as Hermione finished washing. "I won't say they weren't surprised."

"Understatement."

"But, really, you're okay?"

"I'm getting there, Gin. Here, another set of eyes would help. Want to look for my prospective career list and see if anything is missing? I'm open to ideas—odds are I don't even know all the possibilities out there in the wizarding world. I've still got these…blind spots where I don't know things. It drives me crazy."

Hermione and Ginny settled down on the couch for a bit and Hermione brought out her list.

* * *

"You're here late."

Ron looked up and found Susan leaning on his desk. He scrubbed his hand through his hair and set aside the file he was reading off on top of a stack of three or four more. Who would have ever imagined this much research and paperwork in fighting the bad guys? He fought down a rueful smile—Hermione would. She always did their research and found the answer when they needed it. "I just wanted to look into something."

Susan tilted her head, reading the file names sideways—though she had a pretty good idea. "Looking into the Malfoys?"

"Yeah." He shrugged.

She leaned over and picked up one of the files. "Anything in particular? Or is this about last week?"

Ron rubbed his temples for a moment and then looked up at Susan. "It's about last week. But not in the way you're thinking."

"You're a Legilimens now, are you?" she quipped.

He looked at her hand lying on his desk like he wanted to pick it up. He made eye contact instead. Stupid office rules. "It's not that she's dating somebody. Hermione and I haven't been like that in a long time. A really long time. I'm worried because it's Malfoy and that whole family is never up to any good—they're just not stupid enough to get caught most of the time. I'm just doing my due diligence—if he's up to something sinister, the Ministry should catch him at it and put him where he belongs. I'm just being cautious."

"You don't think Hermione just turned up with him to rattle you?"

He scowled. "No. It isn't like that with us. I was a jealous prick when we were at Hogwarts, but that was a long time ago. I don't care who she sleeps with…but something isn't right here. I saw Ginny's face at the match. She had no idea Hermione was seeing that ferret. I talked to her about it the other day. She was trying to track him down. I found some information she needed." He ran his hand through his hair again and stuffed the whole stack of files in his desk drawer, squashing them a bit. "If you're doing something you can't tell your best friends about…something is wrong. I don't know if he's blackmailing her or has her cursed or what. But something isn't right."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Have you tried talking to her about it?"

"Merlin, no." He shook his head and leaned back to stretch. His back ached. He'd rather be in the field than reading reports—and his shift had ended hours ago. "If—for some crazy reason—she really is dating him, she's going to think I'm just being paranoid or jealous. I just want to look out for her. She's got a mean right hook; don't need to give her any reason to use it if I'm wrong." He gave a lopsided grin.

Susan chuckled and looked him over. "Did the files actually yield anything useful?"

He snorted. "Narcissa is contributing to a dozen different charities. Lucius seems to be keeping his nose clean since he got out of Azkaban—there's not a lot on what he is doing, but they haven't caught him at anything yet. There seems to be even less on Malfoy. I managed to find that he owns an apothecary in Diagon Alley and has offices above it. Can't seem to find much so far on what he does in there" The noise level in the office picked up as other wizards on Susan's shift came in. "I should probably call it a night. I'm starving."

"You're always starving. Owl Hermione. Invite her and Malfoy over for dinner one night—maybe we'll learn something."

"Voluntarily eating with a Malfoy sounds drastic. But it might be a good idea."

"I'm smart. It's one of the things you like about me. And I like _you_ enough to tolerate a dinner with Malfoy," she said. "Now get out of here."

He stole a quick kiss and made his way out of the office. Rules be damned.

* * *

Hermione spotted Bill in one of the booths at the back of the Leaky Cauldron and he waved her over. "I thought you might prefer this over having dinner with Fleur and Victoire."

"Appreciated. Not that I don't love them—"

"But you wanted to talk business. It's easier to do that when there's not a four year old at the table."

She grinned. Tom wandered over to take their orders and left again, promising to be back momentarily. Bill gave a casual smile at her and waited for her to start talking. "No judgment on my…companion the other night?"

He snorted. "If you insist on it I could, but I figure you've probably had enough of that. I'm the oldest of seven. If I kept being worried about who was running around with whom, I'd have no time for anything else."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you." She asked polite questions about Fleur and Victoire while they waited for Tom to return with their drinks and steak and ale pie.

Bill dug into his pie with obvious enjoyment, but unlike Ron, he had mastered the art of chewing with his mouth closed. "Can't beat good pub food. Now, tell me what I can do for you? There weren't a lot of details in your letter."

Hermione did her best to explain her dissatisfaction with the Ministry job without diving into her headspace. Bill nodded along thoughtfully.

"I never thought you'd be there long-term. You're not like Perce. He's happiest with four walls around him and shoes that never get scuffed. From what I know about you, you've always been willing to get your hands dirty to get the job done."

"So tell me, do your hands get dirty breaking curses?"

He took a long sip of his drink. "Not as much travel as I used to. With Vicky now, I stay closer to home. Oh Merlin, I loved the travel when I started. Anything to get me out of the Burrow back then." He told her about his early cases, close calls.

"And you're still enjoying it?"

"It's not quite the same as it was. Mostly I'm breaking curses these days on antiques—So-and-So's great-great aunt Tibilla had a necklace with pearls the size of robin eggs, but none of her descendants can wear it because she found out her husband cheated on her and she put a wicked curse on it. So I'm working more on the artifact and heirlooms side of things these days rather than exploring the tombs of ancient wizards. It's different. But it gets me home in time for supper and to tuck Vicky in for bed most days."

"I don't think the cat cares much what time I come home."

Bill grinned at that. "Fair enough. There's some risk involved in this line of work. It's always possible you might not be as clever as the people who cursed the objects in the first place. But odds are that no one is going to try to actively kill you."

She nodded and sipped her drink. "At my last job I was being smothered to death by useless paperwork. How does this measure up?"

Bill paused to consider his answer. "There's more paperwork than I'd like some days. You don't just fling your wand at an object and hope for the best. Everything is documented—what you tried, what worked, what didn't. It helps when the next round of things come in—all the data goes towards helping us figure out the next case more easily. And there's a few things rattling around the office that have been there for decades at least. There's a book that goes with each of them—everything every wizard or witch has tried on that item so far. The paperwork is tedious, but it's not pointless."

Useful research was at least better than busywork. She'd give it some thought.

As the clock on the wall chimed, Bill realized he had to be getting back to the office. Hermione thanked him for his time and he waved it away and gave her a hug, putting money down on the table to cover their meal. They headed out onto the street—Bill was going back to Gringotts.

Hermione strolled casually through Diagon Alley's Friday afternoon crowd. It wasn't as if she had anywhere else to be. There was _The Magical Menagerie_ where she had bought Crookshanks and Skimbleshanks. She remembered the first time she came into Diagon Alley—the look on her father's face when they exchanged money at Gringotts for the first time. He'd managed to keep his cool well enough inside, but as they stepped outside again he'd murmured, "Oh lord, those teeth."

"Do wizards have orthodontists?" her mother had asked.

The world had felt magical that day. Magic was loose in the world and she was on the doorstep to getting a piece of it. She sometimes wondered if it was worth the price. Would she have joined the wizarding world if she'd known that she'd lose her parents in seven years to her own protectiveness?

It still hurt, but she'd do it all over again. It was better for them to be together and alive in Australia than to have had them in Britain—tortured or dead. She couldn't bear the thought of their blood on her hands.

How much more blood would there have been if she and Harry and Ron hadn't gone hunting Horcruxes? There was no one else to do the job. And the job needed doing.

She just had to find the next job that needed doing. Curse-Breaking was still on the list, but she wondered if you really got to pick your clients. Going toe-to-toe with ancient wizards sounded more intriguing than spite curses on your relatives.

Her footsteps slowed as she passed in front of Ollivander's. It looked exactly as it had when she was eleven. Boxes upon boxes of wands, crafted with care and stored to wait for the witch or wizard who was their perfect match. The tool that transformed you from a gawky ten year old accidentally levitating the lamp to an eleven year old learning and performing your first conscious magic.

She fingered her wand, resting comfortably in the holster at her hip. They'd been through a lot together. She was jostled from behind as a group of people passed by her. It was enough to spur her to action. She went inside.

The shop was quiet. Most people kept their wand for decades. The only time it really started to get busy was during the summer. "Hello?" She trailed her fingers over the boxes of wands. There didn't seem to be anywhere near as many wands on the shelf as there once had been.

"Hermione, what a surprise!" A blonde head popped up behind a stack of boxes. Luna Lovegood was beaming at her. Her wand was tucked behind her ear and there were several more in her hand.

Hermione blinked. She hadn't seen Luna in…ages. Their paths seldom crossed these days. She worked—had worked—at the Ministry, and wasn't sure what Luna had been up to. They crossed paths very occasionally, but neither of them was exactly the most social butterfly. "What are you doing here?"

"Working. I apprenticed myself to Mr. Ollivander—it still seems too odd to call him Garrick after all this time." She confided, "Sometimes I call him Ollie—he says it makes him feel like a boy again." She deposited each wand into a carefully selected box. "It's really fascinating work. I just came back last week from a supply mission. These six all have unicorn hairs as the wand core but every wand is different. It's…an art."

"That's great news, Luna." She supposed she could scratch wandmaker off her list; Ollivander didn't need two apprentices. "How have you been?"

They stood in the shop—crowded with slender boxes—catching up with one another. Luna didn't seem to have changed. Still bright, sweet, soft spoken. Even after everything she'd seen and been through—she somehow still wasn't jaded. After everything…Hermione smiled.

Luna smiled dreamily back. "What brings you by here?"

Hermione hadn't said much of herself so far. "I was wandering around Diagon Alley…it seemed like a good idea."

"Sometimes doing a bit of nothing leads to the very best something."

"Nothing gets a bit old after a while."

The conversation might have gone on, but Ollivander himself appeared at just that moment from the back of the shop. "Precisely why I've never retired. Hermione Granger. Ten and three-quarter inches. Vine wood, with a dragon heartstring core. Quite a versatile wand. Very resilient. Is all well with it?"

Hermione rested her fingers lightly on the handle. "It's quite well. Still quite serviceable, thank you." She looked the old man over. He had seemed beyond old more than a decade ago when she'd bought her wand. He seemed to move a little stiffer than he once had, and maybe there were a few more lines on his face, but otherwise, he hadn't seemed to have changed. War and kidnapping seemed to have had little effect on him, except possibly to bring him and Luna together as master and apprentice. She wondered idly if Luna was his first apprentice; she'd never heard of him having one before, but then again…it's a question she'd never thought to ask. Maybe it was private. Maybe it was common knowledge within the wizarding world and it was one of those things she never picked up. She hated those gaps in her knowledge. She never knew when they might come back to bite her. She gave herself a mental shake, though neither Ollivander nor Luna showed any awareness of the silence settling in. "With a dragon heartstring core, would that have any impact on working with dragons? Would they sense it?"

Ollivander considered a moment and then turned to Luna and prompted her to answer.

"It would depend on the dragon. Some may be vaguely aware of it, but not know what they're sensing. Depending on the dragon's temperament that could be a good thing or a bad thing. Heartstring wand cores are the only core we use that actually requires the death of a magical creature. It's quite sad—unicorn hair and phoenix feathers are much more easy to come by. Not that we ever kill a dragon to get it you understand; we work with one of the reserves, but dragons are quite long lived and don't pass very often." She perked up a little. "Are you planning to work with dragons?"

Hermione fingered her wand; she hadn't really considered it in those terms before. Her wand was the result of the death of a dragon. She squashed the practical question of how many wands resulted from the heartstrings of one dragon. It wasn't a question she really wanted an answer to. "I'm evaluating some options. I've left the Ministry."

Luna nodded at that. "Yes, I wouldn't want to work there myself. Enchanted windows never quite replicate the feeling of sun and sky on your skin."

"Very true. I think I'll be going now. Lovely to see you both." Sun and sky on her skin would certainly be a good start.

"Do stop by again sometime, Ms. Granger. People grow and change. You may find another wand that suits whatever you pursue."

She kept that in mind as she headed out the door.


	9. Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:** This chapter took a little longer than I was hoping. In the last few weeks—I had birthday, had a 2 week long head-cold from hell, and started packing up all my worldy possessions because we'll be moving house in a couple of weeks. I have my priorities straight—books packed first in neatly labeled boxes so none of them get lost on the way. When I did sit down to write this chapter, it fought me a little, but I'm please at the end result. Thanks as ever to Sunshine Katz for beta-ing. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing. And now…let's have some more Draco. I don't know about you but I missed him last chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Mirror, Mirror**

* * *

"Draco, Draco, Draco…how could you let me down by letting that Hardwick girl go?"

"I gave her a try at your request, Mother. She wasn't suitable."

Narcissa gave a small sigh and pursed her lips in a way that Draco knew meant he'd disappointed her. He didn't pay it much mind; he'd learned to determine on his own what was and wasn't worth disappointing her over. "If she wasn't right for the office, maybe she'd have been suitable…elsewhere. She comes from a good family."

 _There it comes_ , Draco thought. His mother knew perfectly well that the girl hadn't been right as his receptionist. She was thinking of other things. He just barely kept himself from snorting; that may have been his mother's plan, and possibly Agatha's mother's plan, but Agatha certainly hadn't been aware of it or she might have tried harder. He couldn't imagine going through life calling someone Agatha every day anyway. He dutifully chewed his Friday night dinner and made polite conversation. He didn't come over weekly, but at least a couple of times a month he came back to the Manor for dinner with his parents.

Draco timed his question just as his mother took a sip of her wine. "By the way, I met my cousin Teddy—well, first cousin once removed. It was a shame to meet him and find out about the loss of your sister on the same day."

Narcissa's glass shattered. It happened so quickly, Draco couldn't say whether she dropped it in surprise, or if her magic shattered it.

In a moment a house-elf was there banishing the shattered glass and cleaning up the wine.

Evidently, that moment was all the time she needed to compose herself. "And what brought that revelation to light?"

"Just because you won't talk about certain members of our family doesn't mean they've stopped existing in the wider world. You know how one thing leads to another—you're at a Quidditch match, someone introduces their godson to you, and lo and behold, you find out that your aunt passed away a year ago and your own mother never even bothered to mention it," Draco said, casually, taking another bite of his dinner. He looked up and locked his eyes with her. "But family is the most important thing, isn't it? Just like Agatha's family is good family? Tell me, Mother, how many branches have been burned off the Hardwick family tree?"

"That is enough, Draco," Lucius's voice cut in.

"You taught me family was above all else. Funny how you seem to be able to pick and choose it. I thought it didn't work like that. I certainly wouldn't have picked Aunt Bella if I was picking. Not that I know if Andromeda would have been any better. I never got the chance." His voice was soft, almost icy. He hadn't quite meant to hit that hard, but what was done was done. He wasn't taking it back.

There was a deafening silence, broken only by the small sounds of the house-elf replacing Narcissa's wine.

"Some day, when you are less of a child, I might grace you with a family history lesson. Until then, you may want to take under advisement that there are times when it's better for you to be seen and not heard." There was a brief pause. "And speaking of being seen, you will be present on Monday?"

Draco didn't have to look at his father to know that he was fixing him with the cool Malfoy stare. He'd been on the fence about going to to his mother's reception—he'd been looking for a way to get out of it. But after what he'd just said… "Yes, Mother. I'll be there."

"With a date."

"I'll do my best, Mother. Not the Hardwick girl—but I'll find someone." He started filing through names in his head. One in particular stood out.

That seemed to satisfy her, and she sniffed and called for the next course. Lucius changed the topic of conversation and dinner continued.

* * *

Hermione had sent a note to Harry last night before she could change her mind, offering to babysit today. Harry's response had been surprisingly quick—he didn't need her to babysit, but she ought to come spend the afternoon with him and Teddy.

Now Hermione was looking at her store-bought cookies—she thought they looked a little dismal but she wanted to bring _something_. Oh well. They were what they were. She doubted Harry or Teddy would notice or care that they weren't homemade.

She Flooed to Grimmauld Place before she could talk herself out of it. She stepped out of the fireplace and shook herself off. "Harry?"

"Aunt Hermi'ne!" Teddy called, running through the house with one shoe and no shirt.

Hermione held the plate up out of the way as Teddy tackled her around the knees.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said, following with a shirt, sock, and small shoe in his arm. "He's in one of those phases. He keeps trying to undress himself." He looked down at his godson. "Teddy, you need to put your shirt on. Now." Teddy ignored him and looked up hopefully at Hermione.

"Cookies?"

"You have to get dressed first, Teddy."

In the end, with half a cookie in his hand, Teddy agreed to put the rest of his clothes back on and then ran off to play with his toy broom. Harry grimaced and led Hermione to the couch to sit down. "I swear I'm trying not to spoil him. But it's hard sometimes."

"Spoiling him won't do him any favors in the long term."

"You don't think I know that? I grew up with Dudley, remember. But I also grew up like Teddy…I want him to have a better time of it than I did," he shook his head. "Anyway, enough about me."

"He's better off than you were—he's got _you_. All you had was Petunia." She watched as Harry left the room to bring out some tea. She suspected he wanted to change the subject. He came back with a tray and two cups and a glass of milk for Teddy. "I'm glad you came over, Hermione. It was good seeing you the other night. I hadn't realized how long…"

Hermione nodded and took her teacup from him. "I know. One thing leads to another and months go by. You've been keeping pretty busy?"

"I have. He's a handful at this age. It's a full time job just about." He grinned.

Hermione hesitated, not sure if she should ask the question that was preying on her. She finally asked—she had to know. "Harry…are you happy?"

He seemed surprised by the question. "Of course I am."

"But your job at the Ministry?"

There was a sheepish smile and he shrugged. "It's not forever. After the War…everyone needed some stability. I sure as hell didn't want to be an Auror. I still don't." He met Hermione's eyes. "I spent long enough with a target on my back. I'm over it. I don't want it. And I don't want Teddy to lose me." He turned away, looking at where Teddy was busy playing. "I know I didn't want to be a mascot for the Ministry under Fudge or Scrimgeour—they treated me like shit and they made terrible choices. I think Kingsley is a steady hand on the tiller—as good as we could hope for right now. If coming into the office once in a while and saying the right things helps keep things rolling on—and gives me the time I need right now to take care of Teddy, and focus on what's important to me—I'm okay with it." He paused and there was something in his voice. "I have a _family_ , Hermione. It's all I ever wanted. I'm not going to let him down."

"Don't you want…more?"

Harry sipped his tea and was thoughtful. "Someday I'll want other things. Probably after Teddy goes off to Hogwarts. Someday I'll want a relationship. Someday, I might want a job where I actually have to do something. Right now, I have everything I want."

"Really?"

He put down his teacup and called Teddy over—the little boy took his glass and took a big sip and grinned at them with a milk mustache before scampering off—spilling as he went. Harry shook his head. "Hermione, I don't think these questions are really about me. I'm happy. I don't know how to convince you I am—dating Ginny after the war didn't work, and you remember what a disaster it was even thinking about trying to date anyone else after that. It's hard for me to find anyone who sees me as just Harry instead of Harry Potter." He laughed—they didn't even need to walk down those memories. Love potions and stalking had been the least of it. Even Lavender had attempted to make a run at him—the memory was enough to make him shudder. "So come on. I know I've been a little dense lately, but what's going on? You quit the Ministry, you turned up at the match with Malfoy, and now you're here convinced that I must be unhappy with the whole Mr. Mom routine. We're still family. Talk to me."

Hermione looked at Harry. She took a breath, and looked away from him. "You're right. I…haven't been happy for a long time. I guess I wanted to see if it was just me." He reached out and squeezed her hand. "I had to leave the Ministry. But I left and it didn't just magically make everything better. I've got high expectations. I just don't know what it is I'm expecting." It was hard to even begin to explain, but Harry surprised her by putting it easily into words.

"You feel like you peaked at seventeen?"

"Hard to top saving the world."

"Don't I know it?"

She smiled ruefully. If anyone knew, he did. "Teddy's not far from school now—he'll be five in a few months. Is he enrolled for fall term?"

"I don't know if I'll be enrolling him at the local primary. Elementary school is rough. The other kids…and for a kid who can't control his magic? And who mimics other people's faces without thinking about it?" He shook his head. "I'm still thinking about it, but we were at the park just the other day and I watched him change his face into that of a little old lady who was feeding the ducks. I'm not even sure he's always aware when he's doing it."

Hermione couldn't hold back a laugh. "He didn't. A little old lady?"

"It was all I could do not to laugh…I managed to get him turned toward the duck pond before anyone saw."

It felt good to laugh. She wasn't sure Harry was right about keeping Teddy out of the local school—but she wasn't going to say it now.

There was a crash at the other end of the room as Teddy's block tower fell over. It might have just been the light…or they might have been smoking slightly.

"Teddy, if you're done with them, put them away," Harry called. He turned his attention back to Hermione. "He gets a little over-excited sometimes. If you don't want to go back to the Ministry, what are you going to do? Hogwarts?"

"I can't. McGonagall would have me in a heartbeat, but…it wouldn't feel like a step forward. I can't go back." She brushed her hair back out of her face and shifted in her chair. "I'll sort it out. I just don't know where I'm going yet."

He nodded. "You'll get there. Wherever there is. I don't doubt it." He paused, unsure how to continue. "And wherever it is you're going…is Malfoy…traveling with you?" He had the grace to look embarrassed.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "I don't even know where to start. I never really thought he'd actually come to the Quidditch match with me. I just didn't really want to go alone with everything that's been going on, and he said yes, and then I didn't really have a choice. But I had fun."

"It's Malfoy. How did you ever end up even inviting him?"

She shrugged. "The wizarding world is awfully small sometimes. We ran into one another a few weeks ago. Anyway, I'm not exactly seeing him. I just…see him sometimes."

He snickered. "That's loads clearer." Something caught his eye and he whipped out his wand and muttered a spell.

Hermione turned in time to see that Teddy was standing on top of the mantle. Whether he'd managed to levitate himself up there or climb up there, she wasn't sure—but one thing was sure, he was trying to jump down and Harry's spell wasn't letting him.

Harry was at his side in a moment and murmuring the counter spell and lifting him down. He started to tell the little boy how dangerous it was and that he shouldn't go up there. "Now, I want all your toys put away. Right now."

Teddy changed his face to Harry's and glared at him.

"Teddy, I mean it, right now."

Still wearing Harry's face—Teddy glumly started putting everything back in the toy chest. Harry turned to Hermione. "Well, he'll be cranky for a while. You want to stay for dinner?"

Hermione smiled and agreed.

* * *

Hermione was lying across her couch with a good book. It was Sunday and she'd taken the day off from potion making. There was a half eaten sandwich on the coffee table. She turned the page. She reached for another bite of her sandwich. Skim was sprawled across the back of the couch, his tail hanging down.

She had gotten up and had her coffee and showered...and put on a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her feet were bare, and her wet hair was in a bun on top of her head. She was comfortable.

The afternoon was sliding by when a letter shot out of the fireplace. Hermione saw it out of the corner of her eye. Letters through the fireplace were fairly uncommon—it usually meant someone was in to much of a rush for an owl. She set her book down on the table and padded over to pick it up. It was a single page folded and sealed with wax. Her name was on the front. She broke the seal and opened it.

 _I'll be over at 3._

It wasn't signed, but she'd seen the handwriting before. He was coming over…? What time was it now?

She had hardly had time to pick up her plate and bring it into the kitchen to check the clock when there was noise from the fireplace. "Merlin, really?" She glanced at the clock. Three o'clock on the nose. She went into the living room. There was the smug bastard, leaning against her fireplace. "You didn't give me much notice."

"I sent a calling card."

"That arrived one minute before you did. That hardly counts," but she was fighting a smile. She folded her arms across her chest. "So, what brings you by? Did you have a desperate desire to see Skimbleshanks?"

Draco's eyes looked over her casually. Her hair was damp. A tendril had escaped her bun and was lying against her cheek. With her arms across her chest, the hem of her t-shirt rode up a little, baring a little midriff. He drawled, "Well, as nice as the fur ball is, I'm actually here with a proposition for you."

"A proposition? It hasn't even been a week since I saw you. Are you here to scrap your rule?" A teasing smile played across her lips. Six days. And he'd come to her.

He peeled himself off the wall, and ambled towards her, pausing to scratch the cat behind the ears. He looked over at her. Salazar. He usually preferred elegant and dressy over casual…but she wore it well. "Absolutely not. I told you, that rule is…firm." He straightened up and moved closer. Was it his imagination or had she come forward a few steps while he was occupied with the cat? "I had something else in mind."

"Oh?"

He smiled. "It so happens, I am in distress, and I thought you might be able to help. After all, I did gallantly escort you to that Quidditch match."

"It was hardly a hardship. You enjoyed making them all squirm."

He didn't suppress his smirk. "I did. And you'll enjoy this. You get to spend the night on my arm, making high society discomfited—including my mother."

"Gee, that sounds almost too good to pass up…but I think I'll pass."

Draco stepped closer and slipped his hand around her waist; his thumb brushed against her hip. "I did mention the hanging on my arm all night, didn't I? And possibly some dancing?"

"Hmm…is that supposed to be an incentive? Or a deterrent?" She teased. She tried to keep her breath steady but he was standing awfully close to her. Screw it. She could give as good as she got. She reached out to straighten the collar of his robes—not that they needed it—and let her hand linger on the back of the neck.

He stepped closer, lips brushing against her ear. "Incentive, definitely." Salazar. She smelled good. He pulled back a little way and took her hand from his neck, threading his fingers through hers. He slid his other hand to her lower back. He started to dance with her, humming softly. It didn't take her long to start following, though she almost laughed in surprise as he dipped her and brushed a kiss across her lips. "See the upside?" He asked, raising her back up again.

"I'm beginning to." She licked her lips. Merlin. She was acutely aware of the fact that she hadn't bothered to put a bra on after showering. "And when exactly is this soiree?"

"Tomorrow night."

"You don't give a girl much time to prepare."

He looked her over. "You don't need much time."

She laughed. "I would have preferred more than a minute's notice before you turn up at my flat."

He smirked at her, and his eyes lingered on her chest for half a second too long. "Even with short notice, you don't disappoint. But this isn't until eight tomorrow. You have nearly twenty-nine hours before I pick you up. Ample time."

She shook her head, hardly believing him. "You're a smug bastard, aren't you?"

"Absolutely not. My parents married long before I was born. Do you have anything to drink?" Draco sauntered off to the kitchen; it was getting a bit warm in here.

By the time Hermione had followed him to the kitchen, he'd poured himself a glass of orange juice and was standing against the counter drinking it. She kept her distance, fixing herself a cup of tea. She looked over at him from across the room. "I'm not saying I'll go, but if I do…what's the dress code?"

Draco brushed his hair back from his eyes. "Elegant dress robes. I'll send something over."

"I can dress myself."

A wicked grin crossed his face. "I wasn't offering to come over and dress you, but if you insist…"

She added sugar and lemon to her tea, keeping her hands busy while she shot him a disapproving glance. Well, she attempted to anyway. She doubted it worked, based on the fact that his grin didn't even flicker. "Dress robes cover a lot of range. If I'm willing to go—and that's an if—I want to make sure I'm dressed…appropriately. I want to make them squirm with how well I fit in—not make them think, 'Oh Merlin, the Mudblood heathen.'"

"It sounds like you've already decided to go. Trust me on this, Granger. You'll have fun. You'll make them squirm. And I will pick out the perfect robes. You'll have them by noon tomorrow." He sipped his orange juice and looked at her over the rim of his glass. "This stuff in the paper carton is rubbish by the way. Haven't you ever heard of fresh squeezed?"

"Who has time for that?"

The conversation migrated to the kitchen table. They lingered over their beverages as Draco asked about her week and told a little bit about his. She laughed as he recounted his mother needling him about Agatha. He arched an eyebrow in amusement over Teddy's dinner-time antics the day before. "Potter is really enjoying all that?"

"Reveling in it. I wasn't sure I believed it either but…" She shrugged. "I saw him. He's happy."

"And you?"

Hermione considered a moment before answering. She still didn't know what she was doing—about _anything_ really. But she was finally starting to feel like it was okay. She was climbing out of the pit and she could see the sunlight. Curse-breaking? Dragons? It didn't really matter. She'd find something. Malfoy? She'd cross that bridge when she came to it—they'd bought themselves another week. "I think…I'm getting there."

A real smile crossed Draco's face briefly. "I'm glad. I remember how long a road that is. And to be fair, women's shoes tend not to be good for long walks."

She chuckled. "It's a good thing I'm barefoot then."

He reached across the table and rested his fingertips on the back of her hand. "I should be going—natural beauty as I am, these things do still take time."

"I can look this good on a moment's notice, and twenty-eight hours isn't long enough for you?" She arched an eyebrow at him. Not that she thought she looked good—sweats and a t-shirt. But then again…he'd seemed to like it.

He glanced at the wall clock. "Twenty-seven and a half hours actually. But who's counting? I'll see you tomorrow?"

She could hear the question in his voice, even though he hadn't phrased it that way. Maybe she wasn't the only one who was—a teensy bit—nervous about letting a full week pass at this point. "I'll see you tomorrow. But I'll take care of my own robes, Malfoy."

Draco smirked. "We'll see. And…I think—given the impression we're going for tomorrow—maybe we ought to drop the surnames, Hermione."

She tasted his name on her lips. "Draco."

"That has a nice ring to it. I'll see you tomorrow at 7:45." As he walked around the table, he let his fingers trail over her arm.

He was halfway to the fireplace when she asked. "Draco? What exactly is this reception for?"

"The usual sort of thing. Textbooks for needy children. Second-hand wands. Something like that."


	10. I Move the Stars for No One

**Author's Note:** I know it's been a few weeks—but I'm happy with how this chapter turned out. We've been in the middle of moving—closed at the end of April, moved ourselves and the cat to the new place a week later, and finally today—all the furniture is coming! One of the few pieces I've had with me the last week is my writing desk, so I was able to write a chapter you'll hopefully enjoy. I've taken the title of this chapter from Labyrinth. Does anyone else think Jareth could totally be Lucius Malfoy during his rebellious teen years? Just me? I'll go hide under a rock. Thanks as ever to Sunshine Katz for beta-reading this story. Any remain mistakes are my own doing. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 10: I Move The Stars for No One**

* * *

"—and so I told him to ride his hippogriff into the sunset and bugger off." Blaise grinned, but the grin faltered when he didn't get a response from his audience. He rapped on the table with his knuckles and sighed dramatically.

Draco blinked. "You were saying?"

Blaise pursed his lips and shook his head. "Never mind. You just missed the end of a great story and I'm not going to deign to repeat it. What's with you today?"

"I was just thinking about something. Continue."

He sipped his drink. "Oh no, I'm done. I haven't seen you this…" he waved his hand in an airy gesture, "since you were mooning after Lisa Turpin."

Draco glared at his friend over his half-finished lunch. "I do not _moon_." He paused. "Is she still with that Hufflepuff?"

"Hell if I know. I haven't seen Turpin in ages. So, what gives?"

He smiled. "Oh, I sent some mail this morning. It should be arriving any time now…"

The dark haired wizard rolled his eyes at his friend. A smile like that on Draco's face and he was going to try and convince him that he wasn't pining after someone? Not likely.

* * *

Hermione Granger had always prided herself on not being one of those women who were obsessed with their appearance. Her frizzy hair and (formerly) large teeth were not her defining traits—they were far less important than the sensible thoughts in her head and the articulate words coming out of her mouth. Comfortable and practical clothes took precedence over uncomfortable but "stylish" ones.

That said, she did understand the necessity of professional dress. Her work robes for the Ministry had been exactly what they should be—neat, businesslike, and practical.

She was sure they were all wrong for tonight.

In the back of her closet she had found a couple of sets of dress robes from various functions over the last few years, but she wasn't sure if any of them were right either—the dress robes she'd worn to Bill's wedding, funeral robes—Merlin, there'd been too many funerals.

She'd already Owled Ginny yesterday and the redhead had responded promptly with a visit and several sets of her own dress robes. She'd even refrained from judging on the fact that Hermione was going with Malfoy, though she bit her lip on the topic. They were laid out on the bed along with her own. She was leaning towards a set of yellowish robes that belonged to Ginny—they had clean lines and weren't too…floofy. They might work if they fit okay.

She had the robes half on, back loose and unlaced when a motion in the living room caught her attention. A beautiful owl was sitting on her kitchen table with a large box in front of it—she grinned smugly to herself. Her selective permeability window was still one of the best original spells she'd ever come up with: it let the owls in, but kept the rain out.

As she approached the box she couldn't help but notice the details—the sheer ribbon that tied the box together. The delicate, barely noticeable painted ivory flowers on the cream colored box. She let out a breath. The box alone was enough to tell her what was probably in it. Well, she didn't have to wear whatever was in the box. But…maybe just looking at it would help her pick out what she did need.

* * *

Skimbleshanks meowed pitifully, as if he hadn't been fed in days—instead of just a few hours ago. She scratched him behind the ears.

"You are an extortionist," she informed him. She fed him again anyway. She would probably need moral support from him when she got home tonight. She was starting to doubt the wisdom of tagging along with Malf—Draco—tonight. She should have asked more questions. She should have refused outright. After all, she'd had an ulterior motive in inviting him to the Quidditch match—she wanted him as a distraction. What was his ulterior motive? She wasn't stupid enough to think there wasn't one—even if she'd chosen to ignore it yesterday. Merlin. Maybe she ought to cancel.

Well, some people get all dressed up with nowhere to go. Here she was all dressed up and not sure she wanted to go. She let out a breath of air between her lips and made a rude sound. So often during the last few months she didn't want to go anywhere. Now she might actually have a good reason not to go—but it was all a big if. She was dressed up. There was an engaging young wizard on his way over. If he answered all the questions right—maybe it was worth going. She did love the thought of making Narcissa Malfoy cringe.

She was pacing in the living room, when he came through the fireplace, right on time.

"Never a moment late or a moment early."

He smirked, crossing over to her, taking her hand and kissing it. "I pride myself on it. If you can't manage yourself, what can you control in this world?" He'd spent a long time learning what was and wasn't in his control. He could only control his feelings so much, but he could control the face he showed the world. He couldn't control what newspapers said about him or his family after the war—but he could keep himself from giving them any extra ammunition. It took a while to get to that point: to realize that it wasn't a matter of attempting to bully reporters into submission or try to get one in his pocket. It was a long, angry, depressing road, but he'd found his way to the end of it.

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched in appreciation for the sentiment. It was very much her own philosophy—or had been throughout school and until the haze had descended on her. She was aware of his gaze on her; he seemed to like what he saw. The feeling was mutual. His green robes were dark enough to be almost black, with subtle hints of red and gold embroidery—just like the ones she was wearing.

He was still holding her hand and raised it over her head. She indulged him with a spin, fingers just touching his. "Perfect fit." He would have liked to see a necklace on her. With her hair up, and the neckline where it was, it would suit perfectly. Did she own one? He'd never seen her wear jewelry.

"I should have asked before—this—tonight—this isn't at your Manor is it?"

"Absolutely not." He didn't miss the relief on her face.

"You know, this is the third time you've been over here, but I still don't know where you live." She wrinkled her nose, utterly ruining the elegance of her whole look. "Merlin, you don't still live with mummy and daddy at the family Manor do you?"

"Salazar, no." He shuddered. "I've tried time and time again to convince them to move on from it—turn it into an orphanage or burn it to the ground. Anything but keep living in it day after day. Unfortunately, as persuasive as _you_ might find me," he eyed the dress robes he'd picked out that she had sworn she wouldn't need, "my parents are not so easily convinced. I go over as seldom as I can get away with while still observing my filial responsibilities." His tone was mock-serious, but Hermione caught something in the undercurrent.

"Memories?"

His voice was brusque. "Ones I rather prefer not to dwell on. The nightmares don't surface much these days, but I prefer to keep my exposure to a minimum." He reached for her fingertips and raised her hand to his lips again, his charm slipping back in place. "As it happens, I live on the fourth floor, above my office. You may just see it some time."

"Oh, I just may, may I?" She laughed. She looked him over. "We'll look like quite the pair when we walk in, which I suspect was your intention. You really didn't have to."

"If I hadn't, I wouldn't get to see you wear them." The robes left her shoulders bare, but had trailing fabric over the arms that gathered again at the wrists. There was a keyhole cut out in the back, and a heart shaped neckline in the front. He trailed a finger along her collarbone. Just shy of a month since he'd run into her on New Year's.

She gave him a teasing smile. "Are you thinking of abandoning the outing?"

"Alas, it's a social obligation I can't get out of, and which I hope you haven't changed your mind about, Hermione."

She gave a half shrug as though she was still undecided. Her name did sound good on his lips. "You haven't told me why we're really going."

He arched an eyebrow. "I should think my motive was obvious."

"I'm hardly naive enough to ascribe only one to you. So tell me, other than the pleasure of my company, why bring me? I can't imagine you'd consider this a…date."

He glanced at the clock. He had time. "When I take you on a date, you'll know it."

"When, not if? Someone's cocky."

He smirked. "When, not if," he confirmed. "Why you? You're _you_. One of the best and brightest of a generation—just being there will remind those witches that they could and should do better than they do. Never hurts to remind them."

"An anonymous _them_? Or your mother?"

"Who says it can't be both? Not to mention…you are a stunning witch. I defy any member of the old guard to look at you tonight and say that you or anyone like you hasn't earned the right to stand there." He rested his fingertips on her hip. "And, if all that wasn't reason enough…I am going enjoy looking at you across the table, whispering comments about the old bats, and watching the looks on their faces as they realize how dazzling you are. Tell me, doesn't that sound like at least as much fun as horrifying the Weasleys at that Quidditch match?"

A slow grin blossomed on her face. She was going to have fun tonight. She wasn't sure what sort of stuck up old witches were going to be present…but the wise always said living well was the best revenge. Show the bigots a flourishing, well-polished, accomplished, Muggle-born witch. It'd been a while since she'd felt like doing this. This would be fun. "Let's go before I change my mind."

He trailed his hand up from her hip, over her side and across her collarbone again. "You don't happen to have a necklace that would sit right about here, do you?" He asked.

"I don't really have any jewelry. Why?"

"It would give me an excuse to stare."

"As if you need an excuse."

"I do in polite company."

"Any company _you're_ in is hardly polite." They teased for another few minutes before Draco settled his arm around her waist and Disapparated them both.

They arrived on the front step of a large, old manor house. It wasn't nearly as newly polished as Malfoy Manor. The style was clearly dated, but care had been taken and the house was sturdy. The lion-faced knocker spoke before they could reach a hand to it. "Who enters?"

"Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger."

There was a moment's pause of deliberation. "Proceed," rumbled the knocker, the door swinging open. Draco moved his arm from around her waist and instead offered it to her. Rolling her eyes, Hermione rested her fingertips against his forearm and they entered together.

Surveying the room, Draco kept a pleasant smile on his face. There was the hostess off to the left. He'd work his way around to her. Based on the milling guests and the number of tables filling one half of the room, he estimated only about half the guests were here. Levitating trays of drinks and snacks circled the room in a slow loop. His mother and father were off to one side, chatting politely with an elderly witch Draco vaguely recognized. He thought he saw the Macmillans and Abbotts near the back of the room. A tinkling laugh that could only belong to Estelle Parkinson sounded as she tried to wedge her way into a conversation. Most of the guests seemed to be his parents' age or older. A handful of younger witches and wizards were present, scattered throughout with their parents, or in pairs. A banner against one wall declared the name of the event—the fifth annual Patched Cloak Awards.

One of the younger wizards, doing his duty, spotted Hermione and Draco as recent arrivals and approached them to shake their hands and thank them for coming. He looked slightly startled as he recognized Hermione. His smile warmed and he gave her a one armed hug, dropping his prepared welcome lines. "Hermione. Wow. It's been a while. You look…I didn't know you were coming."

One hand was still awkwardly resting on Draco's arm as she hugged him back. "I wasn't. It was a bit…unexpected. I didn't know you'd be here."

He gave a half-smile as he pulled away from her. "Welcome to the family home. Gran rattles around here by herself so often, she likes to host a party when she can. I can give you a tour later. Introduce me to…" and his eyes finally settled on Malfoy. His mouth went hard and he worked at making his face polite again. "Malfoy. Here for your mother?"

"Someone has to applaud politely when she gets her plaque. It'll sound better if there are at least two of us you know—I may sit across the room from my father and then at least it might sound like it's coming from more than one direction," he said drily.

The words had the desired effect and Neville's pasted on smile cracked a little towards a real one. "Good plan," he replied. He gave Hermione another look. "The music should start soon. Save me a dance?"

She nodded as someone called his attention away.

"Dancing with another man while on a date with me?"

She arched an eyebrow. "You told me this wasn't a date."

"He doesn't know that."

She couldn't help the corner of her mouth twitching in what might almost have been a smile. She whispered in his ear, "Well, we haven't been…not-dating long enough for you to be a jealous, possessive twit, so if I want to dance…I'm going to dance."

He chuckled, and led her off to the middle of the room where the floating trays were going around. There'd be nibbles, followed by dancing and people starting to take their places at the tables, and finally dinner with speeches and awards after.

As they passed the tables, Draco noted that every seat had a name card, but most were blank—only at seats where someone was sitting, or had sat and left behind a cloak or bag had the cards populated themselves with names.

Augusta Longbottom managed to cross their path just as they were starting to make their way towards his parents' table—they'd already startled Pansy's mother in a way that Draco and Hermione had both subtly enjoyed. Hermione braced herself for the approach of Neville's Gran—the woman seemed to get more formidable with age. There was even talk of her possibly doing a term on the Wizengamot.

"Hermione Granger, an unexpected pleasure," the woman said, offering a thin hand to Hermione. Hermione shook it; the old witch still had a firm grip. "Draco Malfoy," she said, equally polite, but with less pleasure.

"Neither unexpected, nor a pleasure," he offered.

She gave him a severe look that could have shamed McGonagall. "Not unexpected. We'll see whether you choose to be a pleasure. Your mother has done good work this year. Perhaps under the right influences you might be motivated to as well."

Draco gave a charming smile. "One can hope." He lowered his arm so that Hermione's hand slipped down to his and he raised it to his lips, kissing the back of it. The evening segued into dancing. Draco was as good on his feet as he promised, holding her close, dipping her, and whispering in her ear when he could get away with it.

Neville did claim a dance with Hermione—his fingers warm and firm against her. He was an excellent dancer. They spoke briefly as best as they could and promised to catch up properly at some point. Draco offered to dance with Augusta Longbottom but she turned him down; though she'd raised an eyebrow and said, "I ought to make you do it for having the cheek to offer." He'd given her yet another charming smile and stepped aside with his drink.

As the dancing wound down, Draco and Hermione made their way to his parents' table, which they were sharing with the Greengrasses.

"The pair of you look lovely. Narcissa, is this your little boy?"

Draco heroically suppressed a shudder at that. Hermione stepped in and put out her hand to Gertrude Greengrass. "Hermione Granger, ma'am. It's lovely to meet you. Draco and I are having such a wonderful time. I'm so proud of the work being celebrated here tonight. It's amazing what time, energy, and good will can do for the world."

The blond wizard smiled at his date. "It really is." He turned back to the Greengrasses, "Hermione and I were just discussing Mother's efforts this year."

Hermione turned an engaging smile on Narcissa, telling her how impressed she was with her efforts to get spell and potion interactions studied and labeled properly—the Muggle world considered that to be crucial in the release of any new medications, but it was a lack in the wizarding world that she was so pleased to see getting remedied.

Narcissa accepted the kind words with good grace, murmuring that the important thing was to keep everyone safe. She even forced out a compliment on Hermione's robes, though Draco thought he saw a subtle shift around her eyes.

The brunette didn't skip a beat. "Aren't they just lovely? Madam Smokes does beautiful work. Draco and I were in Diagon Alley having lunch last week and I saw these and thought they'd be just the thing for tonight."

If Draco didn't know better, he might almost have mistaken the look on his father's face for amusement. Lucius Malfoy liked games as much as the next wizard.

The small talk wore on, and Hermione did remarkably well—it helped that she was enjoying herself. She was normally one to say things plainly and not mince words, but there was a certain fun to the double-meanings and pointed comments she made; she could get her jabs in to some extent and still be affable as long as she pulled her punches right. Draco held her hand above the table, and from time to time rested his fingertips on her leg below it.

Dinner was nearly done when an elderly witch on her way to the loo stopped by to peer at the young couple. She croaked about what a sweet pairing they made and how good it was to see them together—she recognized Hermione's name of course from the war and she'd known the Malfoys for years.

Draco leaned over and kissed Hermione's temple before looking back at the witch. "What can I say? She brings out the best in me." A look at his father's face made him decide he was going to have to skip the next three or four dinner invitations. Still…there was almost a hint of a smile, as if the older wizard was saying _Well-played, son, now stop it before your mother's veins burst._

The lighting at all the tables became more subdued and a brighter light shone down at one end of the room. The awards and boring speeches started. Draco donned an attentive looking mask as he kept his face trained to the front, letting his mind wander on pleasanter things—like wondering what Hermione was wearing under her dress robes. His hand strayed to her thigh again.

There was an award for the greatest impact on young wizards and witches—some sort of textbook collection and recirculation practice. There was an outreach program to promote better understanding between Muggle-borns and full-wizarding families—for some reason this seemed to only be a fledgling program that was just finding its feet, but it was deemed to have "the most promise for the upcoming year." Narcissa was being honored on two accounts—her work with St. Mungo's, potions manufacturers, and spell researchers to add labeling on spell interactions had won on its own. That said, she was also being honored for involvement across multiple different branches of the Patched Cloak Society this year—organizing fundraisers, making her own donations, and and hosting events. She had been involved in the textbook collection, in a summer tutoring program…Narcissa Malfoy's fingerprints were everywhere and she smelled like a rose.

She accepted her plaque to as much applause as anyone else and returned to her seat beside Lucius. Hermione and Draco offered heartfelt congratulations.

Neville joined his grandmother and thanked everyone for coming and for all of the work that they had done and would continue to do. The wizards and witches began to filter out of the house—some heading towards the front porch to Disapparate, others going to the fireplace. A few were even leaving by broomstick.

Draco and Hermione made their way to the porch arm in arm. Gentleman that he was, he Apparated them back to her flat, arms around her. As they arrived he leaned down to kiss her neck. He breathed her in. Delicious. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

She chuckled. "I did." She pressed herself against him a little more thoroughly than was necessary as she pulled away from him. "Care for a drink?" she asked, drifting into the kitchen.

"Tea, please." There was a rustling of feathers off to one side of the room. "Hermione, were there two owls in your flat when we left here?" he called, heading over to investigate them. He was almost sure there hadn't been.

She came back to the living room to find Draco at the owl perch—two owls were in fact on it and neither was hers—untying letters. She set both teacups on the table. "They came in the window while we were out."

"The closed window?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Selective permeability. Owls can get in. Pigeons and the like - and rain - can't."

He was impressed. That was highly selective spell work. He glanced at the letters. One was fairly crisp, the other looked like it had come a long way and possibly been sat on and had a cup of coffee dripped over it at some point. He found Hermione was holding out her hand for the letters.

A few minutes later, they were across the table from one another, sipping tea as Hermione read her letters. She'd hinted that Draco could go, but he said he couldn't possibly abandon his tea after she'd gone to the effort of making it for him. Rolling her eyes, she opened the scruffier looking letter first and read it through twice.

"Well?"

"Well, this is my mail, and you're busy having tea." She tucked the letter under her tea cup, folded up, and opened the other one. Oh Merlin. Oh Circe. Morgana.

"Granger, your face has gone green. Do you need something stronger than tea?"

She didn't respond; instead, she just tilted her hand slightly, holding the letter out to him. He plucked it from between her fingers and read it.

"Salazar's teeth. Really?"

"If it says the same thing when you look at it that it says when I look at it, I would imagine so." She took the letter back from him. "I'm just going to tell them no. Absolutely not."

A mischievous smirk crossed his face.

She frowned at him. "No. It's one thing to do whatever it is we're doing…in front of a crowd or when it's just us…I can't imagine…"

"Oh come on. It's just dinner."

"With Ron _and_ Susan. The only thing I can imagine more awkward than this would be if you and I were going to the Burrow for tea with Molly and Arthur."

The smirk became a wicked grin.

" _No_." She glared at him. "Sometimes I think you're as bad as a Weasley twin."

"But with ten times the class."

"And only a fraction of the sense of humor."

He adopted a wounded expression and summoned a quill and ink bottle. "I'll just respond to this…"

She put her hand on his. "Draco, what are we doing?"

He shrugged. "At the moment, we're debating whether we should go have a double date with your ex."

"I'd hardly qualify dinner at their flat as a date, and you said when we went on a date, I'd know it."

He looked her over. He was still entertaining thoughts of a necklace for her—it would look good on her. "You will. A wizard only gets one chance at a first date with a witch like you. He's got to make it count."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure she believed him. He sounded sincere—but he could also charm a fence post. She wasn't going to chase him. He was an incredible kisser…and funny…and smart. Let him chase her. "I don't exactly ask for the sun and the moon, you know."

"That doesn't mean you don't deserve the stars." He paused and tapped the letter against the table. "I think we should go have dinner at the Weasel's this Saturday. I'll bring a nice wine. And the next Saturday…" He smiled charmingly. "That should be enough time for me to get the universe to align for you."

Hermione burst out laughing.

Draco's face stiffened.

Hermione lifted her teacup and put it to her lips, passing the first letter to Draco. "I'll be in Romania."

He read through the letter. Tending dragons and getting burnt to a crisp. That did not sound like his idea of a good time. "Really?"

"You don't need to sound so surprised. It was on my list."

Skim broke in then, jumping on the table between them. Hermione gave a sigh, looking from one letter to the other. They both needed answers.


	11. The Thing With Feathers

**Author's Note:** In the last 6 weeks I got pneumonia and a double ear infection, traveled across the country to see my brother, traveled over an ocean for work, and have been working to overcome the lingering effects of the pneumonia. I also had some writer's block. But in the last 36 hours I've written over 4000 words, finished up this chapter, and am making headway on the next one. The story is looking like it will be 15 chapters, plus an epilogue. Thank you, thank you, to SunshineKatz for beta-ing. Any remaining mistakes are all on me.

I hope you'll all accept this longer than normal chapter as a small recompense for the delay. And thank you to everyone who is still reading. You have no idea the smile it puts on my face when I read your reviews.

* * *

 **Chapter 11: The Thing With Feathers**

* * *

The office was mercifully quiet. Draco had had back to back meetings this morning, and the sandwich that should have been lunch had gone cold over an hour ago as he caught up on paperwork.

He'd managed only a few bites of his sandwich and another hour of paperwork when his father arrived through the fireplace.

Lucius looked around—he thought Draco could do better than this. Still, it wasn't a bad start. He crossed through the empty reception area to his son's office, seeing him seated at his desk, working through his lunch. "Draco."

"Father. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I thought you might want to know that you should answer your mother's letter when it arrives—but it seems to have beaten me here." He eyed the unopened letter on the corner of the desk, but didn't touch it. "You really ought to find someone reliable to put out front. It lends a certain air…"

Draco pursed his lips; he knew his father was just finding words to fill the silence. "What did you really come in to say?"

Lucius smirked. Draco was a chip off the old block—not much got past him. "While I was amused with your performance on Monday, your mother found it a little less enjoyable. I suspect if you're not willing to provide answers to some questions for her, she may make up her own."

The younger wizard winced and it took an effort of will not to run his hand through his hair. His mother was dangerous when she got in that mood—he could find himself with an engagement announcement in the paper, or find out she'd invited Hermione over for tea. Neither option held much appeal for him. Harassing a few Weasleys and bringing Hermione to the reception was one thing. A one-on-one session with his mother? He suppressed a shudder. "I appreciate the warning." He looked at his father. "Can't you distract her for a while?"

Lucius arched an eyebrow. There were many things he could do. Changing Narcissa's mind…well that might be beyond him. Still, he liked a challenge. "I'll see what I can do. But I make no promises."

There was a tug at the corner of Draco's mouth. "And are you keeping occupied these days?"

"Not as busy as your mother, but I manage to fill the hours." He still had a few old friends that would associate with him, and he did his best to appear inline with Narcissa's causes—though he wondered at times how she found the patience for them all. He missed the intrigue. Behaving himself took a good deal of the fun out of most social interactions for him. He could still domineer a bit, and surprise people on the days he chose to give way to the will of others, but the thrill of the game was largely gone. No more high stakes, high reward. He'd given up being a betting man—his family wasn't worth risking.

Lucius stayed in Draco's office for a little time chatting sociably, assessing him.

* * *

Fidgeting with the teacup in his hand, Ron paced the living room.

"You're going to wear a hole in the floor, you know."

"She hasn't responded yet."

Ginny rolled her eyes at his brother. "It's only Wednesday."

Ron scrubbed his hand through his hair. "He's got to be up to something. I just don't know what. If I could just get in the room with him…I can ferret it out of the ferret."

Ginny grimaced at the redundancy. Her brother needed to read more. "If you think you can…good luck. I've talked to him and I've talked to her. If he's got a nefarious plot…I haven't found it yet." Not that she trusted him. It was Malfoy. But he hadn't given her a reason not to trust him—not in the last month anyway.

Ron tried to settle himself into a chair, but popped up a moment later. "I think she hasn't responded because she's not coming. I don't know if it's him, or her, or if she doesn't want to spend the evening with Susan." He grimaced. "Or me? We haven't seen much of each other in a while, but I thought we were on good terms."

Ginny looked over at him. "Susan is a non-issue. Hermione doesn't have a jealous bone left in her body over your love life. And she likes Susan—not like when you were with Lavender." Ron looked frazzled enough that she took pity on him. "You want me to go over there?"

"Would you, Gin?"

Ginny agreed to go as long Ron swore that he didn't have any alternative motives himself.

"I'm being straight with you, Gin. It's Malfoy. Just because we haven't caught him at anything yet doesn't mean he isn't up to something. How many times did he try to kill Dumbledore before anyone knew what he was doing? If this is Hermione's choice…that's up to Hermione." He grimaced; the thought of Hermione choosing a prat like Malfoy still didn't feel natural. "I just want to make sure she's not in the middle of anything she doesn't know about. I swear."

* * *

Sprawled on her belly, heels crossed in the air behind her, Hermione was propped up on her elbows on the couch. There was a cup of tea cooling on the coffee table as she worked her way through an advanced book on dragon behavior. Skim sat on the back of the couch, napping.

The opening section had covered a bit of the historical attitudes and observations regarding dragons—dragons as villains and predators, dragons to be chopped up for medicinal uses, to dragons as a natural wonder that should be preserved. There was apparently even a short-lived attempt to weaponize dragons—which went about as well as you might expect when you try to control a fire breathing creature the size of several train cars who could smash the roof of your house in with a blast of air from one wing. The arrogance of some people.

Dragons were fairly intelligent beasts. No culture that anyone had been able to discern, but they were crafty and patient predators.

She was still engrossed in reading and her tea had gone cold when an owl arrived. She recognized it immediately as Malfoy's. Before she could do more than untie the letter from the owl's leg, the fireplace flamed to life.

"Really, Malfoy, this is getting ridiculous. You shouldn't arrive at the same time as a letter saying you're coming over. And shouldn't you wait to be invited?"

A feminine voice called, "Sorry to disappoint, but it's just me. And when have I ever waited to be invited?"

"Ginny!" Hermione pried herself off the couch and went to hug her friend. They chatted amiably for a time. The redhead noted the thick volume on the couch.

"Dragons?"

"I'm going to go see Charlie next week—see what it's like to be a dragon-keeper. It'd be lively. It might even be fun."

"You'd move to Romania?"

Hermione shrugged. She realized the unopened letter from Malfoy was still on the couch next to her and tucked it in her pocket. "There's a reservation north of here, so I wouldn't necessarily have to move to Romania, but I want to try it out. I haven't decided on anything yet." She got up to put the kettle on in the kitchen. "I've also thought about seeing how Susan feels about being an Auror. I don't know that I'd really want to work for the Ministry again—I feel like I don't—but…I want something that feels _real_. I want to do something."

Ginny trailed after her and pulled teabags out of the cupboard while the water boiled. "Susan, not Ron?"

"Our temperaments are more alike I think. Ron's one of my best friends—but we're opposites. I think Susan is more like me."

"Steady and able to think critically?"

"More or less. But presumably she's got some sense of adventure or she wouldn't be out patrolling."

Ginny settled teabags into teacups and set them on the counter. Well, Susan certainly wasn't the reason Hermione hadn't accepted the invitation. "I take it from your greeting when I came in that Malfoy's been dropping by unexpectedly?"

"Not often. You know I don't like surprises. I'm trying to convince him he shouldn't make a habit of it, but I suspect my arguments against doing it are likely to be more reason for him to try." _Don't appear randomly in my living room, I might be naked,_ seemed unlikely to dissuade him from visiting if the heat of their kissing was anything to go by. She frowned. Most of their kissing. He'd left her with a rather chaste kiss at the end of Monday night, acting heartbroken that she would rather spend an upcoming Saturday night with dragons rather than him. She'd told him to pick another night and try again—he hadn't proposed one yet. She'd half-jokingly suggested Valentine's Day, but he said he made it a point never to have plans on Valentine's Day. Then again, she'd also told him that if he responded to the letter about dinner at Ron's on her behalf she was never speaking to him again.

The water boiled and they poured it and took their cups to the table. Ginny told her that she had some upcoming games out of the country—Bulgaria, Greece, Romania. "If you're really thinking about becoming an Auror—I'm sure Kingsley would take you in a heartbeat—are you going to go out for coffee with Susan and pick her brain?"

"She's working nights mostly right now, so she's sleeping during the day most of the time. They won't let Ron and her be partners anymore and she had to switch shifts. She and Ron invited Malfoy and me over for dinner this weekend—and judging by the expression on your face that you are desperately trying to hide—you already know all that." Hermione frowned. "What's going on?"

"Damn. I must be out of practice." She usually covered herself better than that. She gave a wry smile. "Ron was worried that you're not coming on Saturday. He thought maybe he'd made things awkward…"

"Oh Merlin. I thought he and I were beyond all that? I don't care about him and Susan."

"That's what I said. I told him he was crazy. He hasn't seen much of you lately and…" she shrugged and trailed off. "You know how he is."

"Protective." She could read between the lines. Merlin. She'd gone from one of the boys, to a briefly flaming romance, to a sister who needed protecting. Not that she or Ginny really _needed_ any protecting but he seemed to have an instinct for it. She shouldn't have brought Draco to the Quidditch match; Ron wouldn't give her any peace now until he'd satisfied himself that she wasn't cursed. Like mother like son. "Do you think actually turning up is going to do any good?"

Ginny shrugged; she'd almost like to be a fly on the wall at that dinner. "It couldn't hurt. If Malfoy's going to be around for a while…may as well let Ron get used to seeing him."

Around for a while…that was a thought that hadn't really taken shape. How long could their game of cat and mouse go on? "I don't know about that."

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

Hermione pursed her lips. "It's…in a state of flux." Ginny was still staring at her like she expected more. She left it at that and crossed her arms.

The redhead could sense when she'd pressed things as far as they were going to go. "Which robes did you end up picking Monday? The green ones?"

"No, actually…" They headed into the bedroom and Hermione gathered up Ginny's dress robes and showed her the robes Draco had sent.

Ginny fingered the cuff, eyeing the quality of the embroidery. "Where did these come from?"

"I stumbled onto them."

"I'd give a Galleon to have seen you in these at that reception. I bet you were stunning."

With a little wheedling, Hermione found herself putting the robes back on and pirouetting for her friend. She smiled and laughed, telling stories from that evening. Ginny couldn't help but think it was good to see Hermione laugh. Maybe…she wasn't giving Malfoy enough credit. Or maybe he was up to something and she couldn't see it. Maybe she ought to get herself invited to that dinner. Or not—after all, she had already taken a run at Malfoy and hadn't had any luck.

After a while, Ginny gathered up the robes she'd loaned Hermione and headed out for the evening. Hermione had nearly forgotten Draco's letter until she went to put away the clothes she'd been wearing when it arrived.

 _Hermione,_

 _I must say I think you're missing a prime opportunity by declining Weasley's invitation for Saturday—you could get the prospective view of two Aurors, not to mention the entertainment value of the evening. Admit it—you've always wanted to see Weasley have to be polite to me, haven't you? It might make his head explode._

 _If you'd like an alternate invitation, I believe one will be forthcoming from my mother for that same evening. After Monday's soiree she said she's looking forward to getting to know you better. As a good son, I must attend her dinner on Saturday unless there is a more pressing, prior commitment that you've already accepted on my behalf. I hope one turns up._

 _Draco_

That was the nail in the coffin. She'd just about let Ginny convince her to see Ron and Susan, and now with this… She grimaced. She couldn't let that woman think she was afraid of her under any circumstances. She could only duck out of dinner at the Manor with a very good reason—she had a previous engagement.

She wrinkled her nose and found a sheet of parchment, carefully wording her response to Draco.

 _Draco,_

 _As a matter of fact, I accepted Ron's invitation earlier today. Feel free to tag along if you miss me, otherwise I'd be happy to let him know that you've come down with Dragon Pox and couldn't make it. Do not send robes. I can dress myself._

 _Hermione_

 _P.S. How much effort did it take to remember to write Weasley instead of Weasel?_

Hermione sent it off before she could change her mind and jotted out a response to Ron's original invitation. Unfortunately of course, she'd just sent her owl back out to Draco. She checked the time and saw the post office would be open for a little longer and Disapparated to Diagon Alley. She thought about just sending a Patronus, but those always felt like more of an emergency way to send a message. A Patronus would find you; it wouldn't do to draw attention to him if he was working.

* * *

Thursday morning, Hermione was on her way to make her tea when she saw that her owl had returned in the night with a response from Draco.

 _I'll see you at 5:30 on Saturday. I know you can dress yourself, but isn't it so much more fun when I do it?_

 _P.S. It wasn't an effort, so much as a pain. But I'm sure you could kiss it better._

She chuckled and set the letter aside. It didn't warrant any sort of immediate response. Besides, she knew exactly what she was planning to wear on Saturday. She set to work on her next batch of potions until an owl came from Narcissa. She sent her obligatory regrets that she couldn't make it to dinner at the opulent Manor house where she'd been tortured—though she did her best to find chillingly polite words to say so.

 _Mrs. Malfoy,_

 _I regret that Draco and I will be unable to join you and your husband for dinner on Saturday evening. We're already attending a dinner party in London. I'm sure yours would have been lovely—I didn't get to see much of the Manor the last time I was there._

 _Hermione_

* * *

Hermione had been unsurprised to receive a box on Saturday afternoon not unlike the one that had arrived Monday. She didn't bother to open it. Draco could take it with him and return it.

Skimbleshanks was snaking his way around Hermione's ankles when the fireplace activated.

"Right on time," she murmured, leaning down to scratch the cat behind the ears. She was right on time too—dressed in the red dress he'd made, with her hair pinned back, and sensible flats on her feet. She looked up to see Draco standing in her fireplace. He held two bottles of wine in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

She raised an eyebrow as he approached. To her surprise, he didn't hand her the flowers.

"These are to make a good impression on the Bones girl," he set them on the coffee table along with one of the bottles of wine. "This is for the Weasel." He turned a charming smile on her. "And this is for us. We have a little time before we have to go. I thought a glass or two might help." He didn't wait for a response as he carried the bottle to the kitchen for glasses.

He saw the box on the kitchen table—the ribbon was still perfect. Clearly she'd not even opened it. It would be one thing if she hadn't liked what he sent, but to not even open it… He was just about to call her on it when he saw that she'd followed him into the kitchen.

"Ron likes beer."

"Heathen. Well, we can still bring the bottle and always drink it ourselves. My mother taught me to never go to a party empty-handed and I'm certainly not carrying a plate of meat and gravy."

The image made Hermione laugh as Draco used his wand on the cork and poured wine into glasses for them. He paused in the middle of handing her hers and gestured at the table. "You should have opened it."

The brunette witch rolled her eyes. "I told you I didn't need another set of robes. Return those."

"You didn't open the box."

"Draco…"

He sipped his wine and set it down, picking up the box in both hands, and handing it to her. "Open it."

Hermione pursed her lips, determined not to be impressed by whatever high-end robes were in the box. Shaking her head, she sat down at the table. The box had the same ivory flowers on cream colored cardboard. The same ribbon. She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. There were no robes.

Nestled in delicate tissue paper was a small box that didn't match the outer one. It was dark blue and tied in a light blue ribbon. She looked up at him.

He rested his forearms against the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm not daft enough to get you another set of robes." He hid his smile behind his wine glass.

She untied the ribbon and removed the lid. She pulled out a delicate silver chain with an owl pendant on it.

"Hope is the thing with feathers." There was a moment of silence between them and after a moment, Draco asked to put the necklace on her. She didn't respond, but he moved behind her, gently taking the necklace from her hand. He carefully moved her hair aside as he put it around her neck, warm fingers brushing her skin. He leaned down and kissed her neck once, twice, three times. He inhaled deeply and pulled away. He moved around to the other side of the table, settling back in his seat again.

"You really didn't have to do this," she said, reaching up to touch the owl against her skin.

"I wanted to."

There was another silence. Hermione sipped her wine. Unsure of what to say. For a man who wasn't asking her out on a date, and could kiss in ways that were positively indescribable but who had refused to take her to bed, he seemed to be quite the romantic. Unless he simply thought she was a charity case? She mentally frowned and tried not to let it spread to her face. She tried to hide her expression behind another sip of wine and discovered her glass was empty. He chuckled and summoned the bottle back to them. He'd escorted her on non-dates and been providing gifts. What was this?

"What are you thinking about so hard?" he asked, taking her glass and filling it.

"That phrase. Hope is the thing with feathers. Where did you hear it?"

He studied his own glass for a moment. He had known that he wanted to get her a necklace all week. He'd gone looking for just the right one. There were cat pendants—that felt a bit too obvious. There was a dragon, but it felt a bit…territorial. There was a single pearl on a golden strand—he'd been tempted by that one. But there was another section of the shop with half a dozen little worked pendants with cards in front of them. A sun, crossed with a rose: _Thou art more lovely and temperate_. The small owl: _hope is the thing with feathers_. Hope. Hope and life had seemed to come back to Granger these last weeks. He purchased it immediately. He shrugged. "It was on a little card next to the necklace. It seemed fitting."

Hermione chuckled. "You have no idea how fitting. It's…it's the first line of a poem. A Muggle poem. I don't remember all of it, but the first few lines go: Hope is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul / And sings the tune without the words / And never stops at all. I'm afraid that's all I remember. It's been a long time."

He reached across the table for her hand, nodding. "Quite fitting." There was another moment of silence and Draco checked the time. "Nearly time to go."

She gave a wry grin. "You still want to subject yourself to an evening of Ron chewing with his mouth open?"

He gave her a level look. "Why do you think I needed wine before we sit down with him?"

She had to admit that was fair. After a glass and a half of wine and almost half an hour's conversation with Draco, she wasn't dreading the evening nearly as much as she had been, though she suspected it'd be a good idea to get some food in her before she drank anymore. "You promise to behave yourself?"

"I assure you, no one will find fault with my manners."

"That's not what I meant."

"I'll do my best not to provoke him?" he asked doubtfully.

"That's what I was going for." They both stood up from the table and she took a step towards him. He kissed her, one hand on her hip. She nipped his lip, sliding her tongue in his mouth. By the time they pulled apart, it was after six. They rested their foreheads against one another, catching their breath.

Draco looked around for a mirror to make sure he wasn't too disheveled.

Hermione guessed what he was looking for and gestured. "The only one is in the bathroom. Through there." She watched him go in and come back out looking like his usual self. She popped in herself for a moment. Her hair was a bit of a wreck, but not much worse off than usual. Her lips were a little swollen. The necklace looked good against her skin—it hung at exactly the right height above the top of her dress. She did what she could for her hair and went back out to the living room. Draco was there, flowers and wine bottle in his hands. He glanced at the time again. Salazar. When was the last time he'd been this late anywhere? It was nearly ten past six.

She offered him her arm and Disapparated them both. They reappeared just outside Ron and Susan's flat. "Here we go," she muttered, knocking sharply on the door. Maybe they weren't home. Maybe they'd forgotten that they'd invited them to dinner. Maybe they could leave before the door open.

No such luck.

Susan opened the door. "Hermione, Malfoy, I'm so glad you could make it. Come in." She turned around, her hair trailing down her back in a long braid. Ron was hovering nearby. They all exchanged greetings. Hermione apologized for their being late—they'd lost track of time. Ron's eyes may have narrowed at that; Hermione was always on time. Draco did his best to be charming as he gave Susan the flowers and passed the Weasel the wine. Susan was perfectly cordial, but didn't seem on the verge of swooning.

There was a few minutes of small talk as they assembled themselves in the living room. Ron took the armchair and Draco and Hermione settled themselves on the couch while Susan fetched drinks. Cheese and crackers were laid out on the coffee table and Hermione reached down and had one. Draco also reached out politely to take one and managed to avoid grimacing. Cheddar. What, no brie? No Camembert?

Susan returned with Hermione's water and beer for Ron and Draco. Hermione had done her best not to look surprised when Draco had echoed Ron's request for beer. She supposed, when in Rome…

The blond wizard raised his bottle of beer to the Weasel and took a swig. "Good choice."

"Uh, thanks." Ron turned his attention towards Hermione, keeping an eye on Malfoy. "How've you been? Keeping busy?" Merlin. Could he sound more awkward?

"I'm doing fine. I've been sending McGonagall some potions for the students. I'm actually headed off to see Charlie next week."

Ron's eyes darted momentarily towards Malfoy and back to Hermione. "You're going to see Charlie?"

Draco chuckled, reaching next to him to squeeze Hermione's hand. "I'm not going."

" _I'm_ going. I thought I might want to get into conservation work. I've been studying up this week and Charlie said I can help out next week. None of the dragons has any clutches of eggs at the moment, so they won't be quite so territorial. And there are still some youngish dragons I could work with a bit. We had to wait to make the arrangements until the last clutch had hatched."

They talked for a few more minutes about what she expected to be doing, and then she tried to turn the conversation to Ron. Before she could get very far, Susan called out that dinner was ready and Ron excused himself to the kitchen.

Draco took the opportunity to whisper in Hermione's ear, "I can still come down with Dragon Pox if you'd like."

She muffled a laugh behind her hand as Susan came back in. "Dinner is ready if you'll come into the kitchen. You're in for a treat. Ron's made his mother's chicken and ham pie."

"Ron cooks now?" A year on the run together, and six months of dating after the war, and _now_ he cooked?

The redhead gave a sheepish grin as he seated himself at the table. "Eventually I realized if I wanted to leave the Burrow and not starve to death, I'd have to learn. Mum was thrilled to teach me." He looked at Hermione. "Dad said I might have held onto you a little longer if I had learned sooner."

"Ron—"

He held up a hand to stop her. "I told him he was wrong about that. But he was right that I probably should have tried to learn earlier. Waiting until I was off on an overnight mission and having to eat a can of cold beans after I exploded the can of little sausages shouldn't have had to be the wake up call I needed."

There was a general chuckle and Draco interjected, "My parents said I was welcome to move out if I wanted, but I wasn't taking their house-elf. Either I had to learn to cook or eat out all the time. Or stay with them."

"And?" Susan asked.

Draco shrugged. "I did move out. And I took cooking lessons. I don't always choose to cook…but I can."

Hermione filed that information away for later. Draco Malfoy was taking care of himself with no house-elf? Or had he gone out and purchased one? Something to dig into later.

Susan gestured to the food laid out on the table. "At any rate, there's chicken and ham pie, greens, and bubble and squeak so everybody dig in."

They loaded up their plates and Susan opened the wine Draco had brought and poured everyone a glass. The food was good. Evidently, a boy who enjoyed eating as much as Ron Weasley did as a kid, took the time to learn to cook well as a man.

Hermione turned her attention to Susan. "How do you like being an Auror?"

"Working nights isn't one of my favorite things right now, but overall I like it. Tail the bad guys until you catch them and get them off the street." She grinned. "What line of work are you in, Malfoy?"

"Please, we're all friends here, right? Call me Draco, Susan." He sipped his wine. The food wasn't bad, but he couldn't imagine eating it with that foul beer. He did his best not to smirk, wondering if either the Weasel or his girlfriend would manage to call him Draco tonight with a straight face. "My job is mostly paperwork and talking—order supplies, make sure the right people are on the schedule, that sort of thing. Keep the Hippogriff flying straight." He saw a look on Ron's face. "Metaphorically speaking of course. I was mauled by a Hippogriff once and have done my best to avoid the creatures ever since." When Susan pried for more information about his field he left it vague—a bit of everything really, but mostly focused on potion making. He steered the conversation back towards the exciting life of Aurors.

Ron almost managed to swallow his food before responding, "It's not as busy as it was the first few years. Things have settled out now. The former Snatchers have either gone into hiding, been captured, or taken up real jobs. Most of the known Death Eaters have been dealt with. Every so often we find one who slipped through the cracks in the system and put them back where they belong."

"No new threats on the horizon?" Hermione asked.

Susan shrugged. "There's always a small number of this or that bubbling under the surface. People who think the laws don't apply to them, or are looking for an easy way out. But no big organized movement. I think even the ones that aren't happy aren't ready to start another war."

"I think we've all had enough war. I'll stick with my boring paperwork," Draco said drily. "Would you pass another slice of the pie?"

Susan passed the pie over and Hermione said, "Well, I'm about sick of boring paperwork."

That brought a grin from the other girl. "So dragons seemed like the answer?"

"It's as good an answer as any and better than some. Is there much paperwork in your line of work?"

"Standard reports and the like. Some days are quieter than others. But a little quiet now and then isn't a bad thing. Better to stand guard in the quiet and stop a war than end up in the middle of another one with no warning."

Hermione nodded. Two wars. Susan had lost so many people. Maybe Susan wasn't the person she needed to ask. Harry felt he made a difference with Teddy and he was satisfied. Ginny was chasing her dreams…no pun intended. She looked thoughtfully at Ron for a moment and turned the conversation aside.

Draco dropped his hand, resting it on her thigh for a moment and giving it a squeeze. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and caught a slight nod from her. She was okay. When Ron got up to clear the table, Draco and Hermione both offered to go with him. Susan said it wasn't necessary and they were guests, but before she or Draco could get up, Hermione was gathering plates and followed Ron to the sink with them. She gave him a friendly smile. "Hey."

"Hey," he echoed. He glanced back towards the table where Draco and Susan were still talking.

Hermione leaned against the counter and looked at him. She spoke quietly, "Do you feel like it matters? In the same way that what we did with Harry mattered?"

It took Ron a moment to figure out what she meant. "Being an Auror?"

"Yeah."

He looked her in the eyes. "It's not easy. And it's not safe. And sometimes there's more reports to write than I ever imagined I'd see outside of Hogwarts. But I think it matters. How could it not? If we can keep another war from happening…how could that _not_ matter? I want my kids—someday a long time from now—not to have to live through the shit we went through."

Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear. "There were Aurors when we were teenagers, Ron. And there were Aurors the year we were born. And there was the Order. And it all happened anyway. Close to three decades of war with a ten year stalemate."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I can't tell you there's never going to be another war."

She looked surprised. "I'm not asking you to. That would be absurd. But I went hollow inside working at the Ministry the last few years. I need to know I'm doing something real. Something that's going to make things better."

"Unless you want to take up Divination I don't think you're going to be able to predict another war."

She wrinkled her nose at the thought. "Divination is hardly reliable. History books and a little common sense probably could have told people it was coming though. People ignore the signs until it's too late."

Ron let out a long breath and took his arm off her shoulders, reaching into the chilled cupboards to gather up dessert. "Merlin. You were in a bad way this year, weren't you?"

"What?"

"You said you went all hollow. And that people ignore the signs until it was too late. I was a shitty friend, wasn't I?"

"That's not what I was saying."

Ron shook his head. "You didn't say it, but it doesn't mean it's not true. I thought you needed space so I gave you space."

"It doesn't matter now. I'm alright. Well, I'm getting there."

He hesitated, unsure if he wanted to ask the question that had been plaguing him the last two weeks. "You're here with Malfoy. I'm not jealous. I swear I'm not. I'm just…" How could he even put it into words?

She seemed to believe him. "Ron, I'm not about to marry him or anything. He's been a good friend when I needed one. I know he's still a ferret." She looked over at the table and smiled fondly. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing." She gathered up one of the trays of cookies he'd pulled out, and he took the ice cream, which was on the verge of melting, and they went back to the table.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** "Hope is the thing with wings" is a beautiful poem by Emily Dickinson and I completely recommend reading it in full if you have a moment to Google it.


	12. The Lair of the Beast

**Author's Note:** It feels like the story is coming together. I won't say too much here. I'm excited about this chapter. Thank you everybody for all your encouragement. I've got a plan for this story (which tends to be unusual for me) and I'm going to do my best to keep it from octopus-ing out of control as sometimes happens. It mind end up a chapter or two beyond my planned 15, but I'm still trying to keep this beast under control and deliver the story Draco and Hermione are insisting on. Thank you as always to SunshineKatz for Beta-reading! Any remaining mistakes are my fault.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Lair of the Beast**

* * *

While Ron and Hermione were in the kitchen, Susan used the opportunity to ask Draco questions about how serious his relationship with Hermione was. She'd even used his given name without tripping over it. Draco had smiled serenely. Hermione was something, wasn't she? They'd just been to the Patched Cloak awards ceremony earlier that week—she'd even dazzled his mother, which was no small feat.

"The Patched Cloak Society. I've heard of them. I think my aunt would have liked that."

Draco nodded. "From what I've heard of her, I think she would have." As Hermione sat down at the table again, Draco squeezed her hand and kissed her on the temple. He murmured, "Alright?"

She nodded, just enough for him to feel against his lips.

Dessert passed more peacefully than Hermione had expected. Draco was almost bored, though he didn't show it. The Weasel was behaving himself better than he would have given him credit for. There didn't even seem to be any furtive glances as though he was trying to catch Draco at anything. Whatever had passed between them at the sink seemed to have calmed Hermione down a bit.

As dessert finished, Hermione and Draco took their leave of the other two and went into the hallway to Disapparate. Hermione let herself rest against his chest once the door was shut; he smelled good. The evening hadn't been bad, but she was ready for it to be done.

Draco leaned down to kiss her forehead and wrapped both arms around her. He took a step and Disapparated them.

When they came out, they were in a foyer Hermione had never seen before. There was a door behind her, and one in front. There was a rack for broomsticks—evidenced by the rather sleek broom hanging from one of the hooks. Across from the broomstick was a fireplace with a six by three foot opening.

Draco tapped his wand on the front door and murmured something, taking her hand in his and leading her inside. "Welcome."

Hermione looked around, trying not to be obvious about it. There was another fireplace of a more normal size for having a fire rather than traveling through. Evidently he liked to keep visitors outside until he was sure he wanted them in. It was a good idea. The living room was uncluttered. There was a dark blue loveseat and a couple of armchairs with ottomans. There were pegs by the door with a couple of cloaks hanging from them. There was a single bookcase filled mostly with large, leather-bound volumes. The end tables and coffee table were a lighter wood than she'd have imagined, if she'd ever thought to picture Draco's flat. As she might have expected, there was a mirror over the side table near the cloaks—positioned just right for checking yourself out at the last minute before leaving. One of the end tables had a vase of flowers on it.

The kitchen and dining table made a small L at one end of the flat and there were a few doors off to one side beyond it. Bathroom and bedrooms she supposed, maybe a pantry.

She was still looking around when she felt his arm slip around her waist. "Well?" he asked.

"Your flat is lovely. Lighter than I expected."

He rested his head against hers. "I'd had about enough of dark wood and black and dark green. Anything to drink?"

"Tea? I think I've had about as much wine as is good for me tonight," she said.

He nodded and let go of her, heading towards the kitchen. She followed and leaned against the counter, watching as he tapped his wand to the kettle, filling it with water and heating it. He summoned a couple of teacups from one of the cabinets. A bespelled cabinet on the other side kept his milk from curdling, and Hermione watched as he assembled milk, sugar, lemon, and tea on a tray. He was pouring the hot water into the teacups and asked, "By the way, what exactly did you say to my mother when you informed her we couldn't make it tonight?"

"That we had a prior engagement."

He raised an eyebrow, picked up the tray, and headed for the table. "That's hardly all." His father hadn't told him what was in Hermione's letter, but it sufficed to say that whatever she said had left a strong impression on the lady of the house.

She followed behind him and selected a teabag and cup. She added milk and lemon and gave herself a moment before calmly saying, "I may have also subtly reminded her that I don't cherish my last memories of my time at Malfoy Manor."

Draco swallowed. It was a time he'd done his best to forget as well. It was one of the reasons he went back as seldom as possible. Years later, and he could still hear those screams. In his opinion, one of the crowning achievements of the war was that his Aunt Bellatrix had been killed in this one instead of just imprisoned. "Ah. She tries to forget."

"I didn't think she deserved the privilege of forgetting that hell." Hermione was almost dainty as she took a sip of her tea. Her voice hardly shook and her hand was practically steady. She usually did her best to avoid thinking of that night.

"Quite right." Salazar. She'd been tortured in his family home. What was he doing with her? But she was here. She'd sought him out as much as he had her these last weeks. And she'd patched things up with all of her friends at this point. She was _choosing_ to spend time with him now; she wasn't desperate. He changed the topic. "You didn't get any opportunity to talk to Susan one on one. I'd planned to help Weasley with the dishes so that you two could have a moment."

Hermione smiled. "I could tell. But I realized it was Ron I wanted to talk to, not Susan. It was good."

He raised his teacup and paused with it halfway to his mouth. "Have you decided to become an Auror?"

"Absolutely not. I'll keep looking. Maybe dragons are the answer." She gave a small smile.

He chuckled and reached out to set his fingers on the back of her hand. "I still can't believe you would rather spend next Saturday with fire breathing beasts than have dinner with me."

"I didn't say no to the concept of a date. Just to the time you picked. Make another suggestion and we'll see."

He shrugged, but there was a smirk in the corner of his mouth. "May as well wait until you come back from Romania. After all, the dragons might burn you to a crisp, and I'd have wasted the reservation."

She rolled her eyes at him. It wouldn't be long before she was ready to head home. It'd been a long day. "I still need to pick up some gear for that expedition. I won't need too much in terms of specialty equipment—Charlie said they can provide most of it. But I need some sturdier work clothes and the like."

Draco tilted his head and looked intrigued.

She waved a hand at him, laughing. "No, you're not going shopping with me."

He gave a dramatic sigh and asked how her discussion with Weasley went. She looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"It was good. Really. He's more perceptive than he used to be. I think I have a better idea of what I'm looking for. I'm not sure if the dragon reservation will really be it. One of the questions that haunts me…"

"How do you keep a war like this from happening in the first place?"

She looked up in surprise.

"Don't think I haven't asked myself the same question. I'll let you know if I find an answer. There's a thousand upon a thousand ifs you could ask. If Salazar Slytherin had won out against the other Founders, would we have a smaller but more united Wizarding world? Or would we have died out centuries ago from inbreeding? If my parents hadn't raised me to think…" _Think that Muggle-borns were dangerous, that you were worthless, would I have this Mark on my arm?_

She nodded; she didn't need him to finish the sentence. "If Harry's parents hadn't chosen Peter Pettigrew as their secret keeper, how would the first war have ended? If Voldemort had been adopted by a loving family and not raised in an orphanage, would he have turned out differently?" She sighed, missing his flinch at Voldemort's name. "A thousand times a thousand ifs. If Ron hadn't made me cry first year and if he and Harry hadn't saved me from the troll?"

"If Potter had wanted to be friends with me?"

She nodded. "You could drive yourself crazy with what-ifs. All we really have is now and what is." She squeezed his hand. "After everything that set the stage for us, and everything we've been through, here we are, having tea at your kitchen table after a non-date-double-date with the boy that fourteen-year-old me wanted to marry."

"Really?"

"Well, I _was_ fourteen. You have to remember that at thirteen I was a bit moony for Lockhart. Turned out Lockhart hadn't done anything impressive. Ron sure as hell did."

He could tolerate the Weasel. He wasn't up for hearing any glowing acclamations about him. He gave a teasing smile. "You know, Lockhart and I have something in common."

"And what's that?"

"I've also won _Witch Weekly's_ most charming smile award."

"You have not," she retorted, laughing.

"Oh, I have. I'll dig up the issue sometime." Salazar, she looked kissable. "Are you sure you really have to go to Romania?"

"It's a bit late to back out now. Everything's been arranged and I get the impression it took some doing. I'll have to go through the Ministry and pick up a Portkey and then come in on the Romanian side and get cleared through.

He toyed with her fingers, running his thumb up across them. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to kiss her, to slide that dress off…He took a sip of tea to steady himself. He'd told himself that he wanted to give her a whole week without him to make sure it wasn't just that emptiness she was feeling at New Year's making her look like she wanted to jump him. He tried to convince himself Romania was a good thing—unless she fell in love with dragon keeping and decided to stay there. They couldn't seem to stay away from one another this month. Maybe a little distance this week wouldn't hurt. He realized he'd been wrapped in his own thoughts for a few minutes and looked up to find she was looking back at him. "When do you go?"

"Tuesday; the 7th to the 14th."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "I'm not going to waste my breath telling you to stay safe and take reasonable precautions. But I'm going to go ahead and make reservations for the eighteenth, and when you get back to London, I am going to ask you out."

Hermione felt her stomach fluttering.

"And it will be a real date."

"You think I'll still be interested?" she teased. Her heart was pounding a little. She wanted to pick up where they'd left off before dinner.

He stood up and moved behind her chair, kissing his way up her neck. She whimpered softly as his lips tugged on her ear lobe. One thumb brushed against her collarbone. He whispered in her ear, "I think you'll still be interested. And going to Romania may be the only way you manage to abide by my one week rule." The rule he'd only invented for her.

She raised one of her hands and took the one that was over her collarbone. She shifted it just a few inches downward until his palm was pressed against her breast. She felt him squeeze and arched back against the chair, encouraging more access. His other hand wandered down, tweaking her other nipple. Hermione turned her head, kissing him, still sitting in her chair as he bent down behind it, hands on her body. Circe. She stood up, breaking contact between them for a moment, but only a moment. She turned around, pressing herself against him chest to chest. His hands trailed down her back, one on her ass, the other on her hip. Hermione kissed as if she couldn't get enough of him. She broke off from his mouth and started to kiss her way down his neck. He made a delicious sound as she found the pressure point and his head rolled back.

Salazar, she felt good against him. It would be so easy to lift her onto the table and slide her little red dress out of the way. He knew the table could withstand vigorous activity. No. No. He fought down the urge. Not tonight. Not when she'd just been to see her ex. Not when they still hadn't managed to spend a week apart from each other since he'd found her alone and depressed. It was Hermione Granger. Cool down. Try to make sure they were both thinking straight. Not to mention…this was Hermione Granger. He didn't want to rush. He wanted to take his time with her. No quick shag on the kitchen table—he wanted to undress her, caress her and memorize every curve. She might always come to her senses after they were done and never want anything to do with him again.

She reached for the buttons at the top of his robe and he took her hands. "Granger. Hermione." His voice was rough, trying to get himself back under control. It didn't help that she'd shifted a little and she was pressed right against him. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, trying to give himself a little space without letting go. "Will you go on a date with me in two weeks?"

Hermione almost laughed. She boosted herself up onto the edge of the kitchen table, keeping her knees close together and giving them both a little space. His face was pink, and she'd threaded her fingers through his hair at some point—it was all in disarray. "I thought you were waiting 'til I got back to ask."

"I'm asking now."

"I accept on one condition."

"Oh, Merlin," he muttered. "What?"

"Don't try to dress me for this one."

Draco smirked. He could do that. Undressing would be another matter. "Deal." He had two weeks to plan. Just because she thought she didn't need the stars didn't mean she didn't deserve them.

Hermione tried to calm herself down. She took a few seconds to try to puzzle out an Arithmancy sequence. It seemed to help. "I suppose I should go for now."

Draco did his best to pretend a composure he didn't feel. His heart was still racing. "Yes, I imagine our tea has probably gone cold. I could use a shower."

She thought about offering to shower with him and thought better of it. It didn't seem like the moment to tease. Maybe it was his old fashioned Pureblood manners. He wanted to take her out on a date first. He could have had her right here, right now on the table. They both knew it. It wouldn't have been the most uncomfortable place she'd ever done it. "I suppose I should let you get to it. Skim will be wondering where his dinner is." She slipped off the edge of the table and kissed his cheek. "See you in two weeks?"

He nodded. Two weeks felt like a very long time. He walked her out to the foyer where the Floo fireplace was and kissed her one last time before she went home; it was time for that cold shower.

As Hermione fed Skimbleshanks, a thought crossed her mind. Merlin. She hadn't arranged with anyone to take care of him while she was gone. She had meant to ask Ginny. She'd write to her first thing in the morning. At the moment she needed a cool shower before bed.

* * *

By Monday afternoon, Hermione still hadn't heard back from Ginny. She'd picked up the last of the clothes she needed—Charlie had recommended a properly fitting set of dragon hide gloves, sturdy denim pants, and a long sleeve top. He'd assured her that Muggle clothes were fine; most of the dragon keepers found trousers and long sleeved shirts better suited for the work than robes.

She scratched Skimbleshanks behind the ears. "We'll think of something. You won't starve." She didn't have to head to the Ministry until Tuesday afternoon. She still had time. She supposed she could bring Skim to the Burrow, although she was a bit worried at the thought of putting him in a wild garden when he'd only been an indoors cat so far. He'd also never met Molly. Some cats could be anxious around strangers and so far she hadn't really had the opportunity to introduce Skim to anyone.

By dinner time, Ginny's response had finally reached her by Patronus. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. I thought Owling back might be too late. I'm in Bulgaria for my matches this week. Maybe Mum could take him?"

She'd forgotten Ginny was playing out of the country this week. She sent a Patronus back and told her friend not to worry. She picked the cat up and put him in her lap. "What am I going to do with you?"

There was one other idea that crossed her mind, but she didn't like it much. She'd wait 'til morning and see if any better ideas turned up overnight.

Hermione checked over the suitcase she had packed. She could have got everything in her beaded bag with the undetectable extension charm, but she was going to another country for a week. If she didn't look like she was carrying the proper sort of luggage, someone might look a little too carefully at her beaded bag and find the charm she was hoping they didn't. It had evaded notice for this long.

* * *

Hermione woke up and no better ideas had come to her in the night, or in the shower, or over breakfast. She had to be at the Ministry no later than two to start the process for Portkeying to Romania, and then there'd be further processing. It seemed even with instantaneous transportation, bureaucracy took time, especially when borders were involved.

She had her breakfast and checked her things one more time before heading to the Floo. Skim meowed at her from the couch. "I'll be back soon," she promised.

She arrived in the empty office and look around. No receptionist. The conference room was still dark. The door to his office was shut. Hermione knocked on it. There was no answer. She was just contemplating opening it when there was a loud crack of Apparition behind her.

"What are you doing here at this hour?"

Hermione turned around. Draco had his wand out. She couldn't help but stare. He was standing barefoot in nothing but loose silk pants. Probably pajamas if she had to guess. "I figured you'd be in the office by now."

"It's a little early for me." He raked a hand through his hair. He hadn't shaved yet, or combed his hair. "What are you doing here? On your way to Romania?"

"I will be later today." Merlin. She'd gotten him up out of bed and now needed to ask for a favor. Maybe she ought to go to the Burrow after all.

He smirked and arched an eyebrow. "Had to have one more kiss before you go?"

The smirk almost made her glad to be able to announce. "Actually I was looking for a catsitter."

"Pardon?"

"A catsitter. For Skimbleshanks. I was going to leave him with Ginny this week, but she's in Bulgaria playing Quidditch. Could I leave Skimbleshanks with you? I know it's last minute." She wouldn't tell him that she didn't want to leave him with Molly; if she had to leave him at the Burrow she would. She'd just try and stay as long as she could to make sure he acclimated okay.

"You want me to watch your cat?" It hadn't been the answer he was expecting. Of all the reasons for the alarm spell to pull him out of bed and downstairs at this unholy hour…

Hermione let out a breath. "Forget about it. I'm sorry. I'll take him to the Burrow."

He realized his wand was still raised and lowered it. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at her. His wand rested against his thigh in his other hand. "What exactly does this entail?"

"The usual. Feed him. Make sure he has fresh water. Talk to him. Have a litter box for him and keep it clean." She saw the look on his face. "It's got a strainer built into the box. I usually levitate the strainer and vanish whatever lifts free."

He was still staring at her as if he hadn't made up his mind about what he was looking at. "You're asking me to clean up after your cat for a week. And talk to him." He wasn't sure which part struck him as stranger.

Hermione shook her head and moved towards the fireplace, walking past him. "I said forget about it. I just hadn't realized Ginny was going to be away this week. I'll ask Molly. I'm sure she'll be home."

He took hold of her hand as she walked past him, bringing her to a stop. He studied her face. This didn't seem to be some sort of test as far as he could tell. No - _gee, can I make Draco pick up cat crap?_ She just needed someone to make sure the fur ball didn't die. He wondered briefly if she'd stay home if he said no. No, this was Granger. There were plans and backup plans. "I'll do it. But just this week—don't think you can leave him with me if you decide you want to go be a dragon keeper for six months or something."

Her face broke out in a smile. "I wouldn't dream of it. I'll get his stuff and be right back." She squeezed his hand and moved on to the fireplace, turning back to look at him again, eyes traveling from head to toe. "You know, for arriving on a minute's notice, you don't look bad yourself."

He smirked at that. "Don't Floo back here. You can Apparate into the foyer upstairs. I'll set the wards to let you through." No need to tell her that he already had on Saturday. He kept his flat tightly warded. You weren't Apparating in unless you were with him, or on a very short list.

"Thank you, Draco." She brushed a kiss against his lips and Flooed away.

Draco found himself running his hands through his hair again. Salazar's teeth, what had he gotten himself into? In short order he was upstairs again. He checked the flat over and put one or two things away as he waited for her. He didn't bother to dress. After all, she liked what she saw, and he aimed to please.

There was a crack of Apparition and a yowl and Hermione arrived in the foyer. Draco opened the front door. Skimbleshanks was in Hermione's arms and trying to claw her shoulder through her thick jacket. Evidently Apparition did not agree with him. There was a pile of things beside Hermione and Draco levitated the lot of them into the flat. How could a ten pound cat require so much gear?

When the litter tray, food bowl, water bowl, cat bed, brush, and an assortment of fake mice were all installed in Draco's living room, the cat sniffed the box as if making sure it was still his box, and started a circuit of the room, getting into every corner.

Hermione and Draco watched him pad around on all fours in silence for a few minutes. "I really appreciate this. I didn't want to leave him with someone he didn't know—not if I could avoid it. I didn't mean to drop this on you last minute."

He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "I know."

She was close enough to smell him and rested her head on his bare shoulder, breathing deeply. She wondered if he always wore so little to bed. She suspected some nights he might wear less. She tucked that distracting thought away. Now was not the time. Not when she was about to be gone for a week. She hadn't spent that much time away from him since he'd tumbled back into her life five weeks ago.

His fingers had found the gap between her shirt and pants under her jacket and he caressed her hip.

"If you don't stop that, I'll miss my Portkey and you'll have a cat here for no reason."

"But you'd stay?"

She chuckled and started to pull away.

"Breakfast?"

"I can't really stay long." In the end, she agreed to stay long enough for toast and tea, even though she'd already eaten. After all, she didn't want to just drop Skim off and run—he might think he was being abandoned.

* * *

Hermione shared out a parcel of Molly Weasley's homemade fudge over an amiable dinner with Charlie and a couple of the other dragon keepers. The bureaucracy involved in getting her from the Ministry in London to the dragon reserve had been every bit as bad as she had expected and she'd spent more than half an hour filling out paperwork in the international Portkey office. It had turned out well—Arthur had caught up to her there and delivered the parcel from Molly. Apparently Ron had mentioned to his mother that she was going to see Charlie and Molly had done her best to get a care package ready.

Charlie's welcome had been friendly, but homemade baked goods from his mother certainly didn't hurt. Coming in by Portkey kept them much fresher than an owl journey, and none of the bits were broken.

The reserve was serious about keeping poachers out. Anti-Apparition wards covered most of the magic carpet ride from the nearest Apparition point to the reserve had not been an experience she relished, but at least it wasn't a broom ride. She was a little dismayed to find that most of the keepers did carry brooms around for emergency transport; they walked most of the time to appear less threatening to the dragons, but if you needed to get away in a hurry, it was better to have something that would get you off the ground.

Hermione felt like she'd sleep well tonight even if her bed was a blanket on a pile of rocks, but the accommodations were considerably better than that. There were a few sets of clustered cottages around the reserve. Charlie had arranged for Hermione to bunk with Sheila who was in his cluster and didn't have a roommate at the moment.

Dinner was over and they were nibbling on the fudge.

"We've got to do rounds tonight with some of the sick younglings and tomorrow we'll head out to where the large greens are settled. There's an elderly pair that I've been keeping a close eye on," Charlie explained. He licked his finger clean of the last of the chocolate and wiped them dry on his trousers.

In short order, Hermione, Sheila, and Charlie were on their way to the pen. It was shielded to keep the other dragons from noticing it, though the smell of humans nearby helped to mask the scent of the young ones.

Hermione's breath caught.

There were two dragons, about the size of golden retrievers, not counting their wings. One was lying on its side and looked at them with a careful eye as they approached. The other was on its feet and limped towards them.

Charlie motioned Hermione to stay back while he and Sheila climbed in the pen. Charlie went for the one that was lying down and stroked its neck for a moment before pulling a potions vial from the pack at his waist. "They don't know you yet—give them time to get used to your scent." He pulled the top off and held the dragon firmly at the back of the head. It didn't take much coaxing for the creature to open its mouth and he poured the contents of the vial into it. The animal shuddered and closed its eyes, resting its head in Charlie's lap. He patted its flank firmly and got up once the the dragon seemed to be asleep.

Sheila was still changing the bandages on the other dragon when Charlie came out of the pen. "At this age, they're still young enough that we can handle them and feed them potions when they're poorly. With the older ones, we have to hide most of the medicine in food unless they're in such bad shape that they're not too much of a threat. Things never get dull around here."

* * *

Draco woke up to a warm weight on his chest. As he blearily opened his eyes he found green eyes staring back at him. He had a moment of confusion before realizing he must have left the door cracked when he got up in the middle of the night.

The cat seemed aware that he was awake and meowed once and jumped off him, onto the floor. After a moment he turned his head and looked at Draco expectantly.

Rubbing his chest Draco couldn't help but think the animal was heavier than it looked, especially when using him as a launchpad. Resigned, he followed it into the kitchen for breakfast. He put out a packet of food for the furball and searched his cupboard for something edible for himself. Toast and jam would suffice; it was far too early for anything as ambitious as bacon or eggs.

In shorter time than Draco would have thought possible, Skimbleshanks had finished eating and was cautiously sniffing at his ankles.

"Yes, meow to you too. This isn't permanent, you know. Don't make yourself comfortable. She'll be back." Salazar. A week seemed like a long time. He tried not to dwell on it. It was rare for him to feel so...attached to someone. But here he was, worried about her. Worried about whether she was going to do something stupid and get flambéed. Or whether she might be happy where she was this week. Or whether she was still trying to run away from everything.

Then again, who was he to judge if she wanted to run? He was an expert at running away himself. He'd tried hard to bury the things that hurt. It was strange to find himself talking about them again. He found himself smiling at his teacup. Who would have ever thought he'd be on a first name basis with Hermione Granger? Who would have ever imagined he'd _want_ to be on a first name basis with her?

He looked up and found the cat had joined him on the table. He rolled his eyes. "You don't want toast. Or tea. What do you think? Has she gone crazy? Or does she really like me?" She'd have to be crazy to forget the Mark on his arm. So far he hadn't found any magic that would do away with it. It was more than skin deep. He could put a glamor over it, but he knew it was still there. She'd still been captive in his family's cellar. "Or maybe it's all a terrible joke and the punchline just hasn't reached me yet." He hoped not.

Hermione might have a wicked sense of fair play sometimes—he'd heard about what happened to that Edgecombe girl—but he didn't think she was cruel. Surely by now she knew he was serious about…whatever they were doing. Salazar. What was he doing?

* * *

"What do you mean you don't fly?"

"I took lessons in first year with everyone, but it didn't really take."

She had to be pulling his leg. This was absurd. "I thought Hermione Granger could do anything and everything."

"Nearly anything," she clarified.

Charlie let out a breath. This would have been helpful to know before they'd arranged for her to come out this week. Anyone making rounds with the adult dragons should be carrying their own broom for emergencies; when she said she hadn't brought one yesterday he'd told her they had plenty of spares. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask her if she flew. Didn't everybody? He scratched the back of his neck for a moment. Then again he couldn't remember seeing her playing with Ron and Harry, but he'd never assumed she couldn't fly. "We'll go out this morning to see those greens; if anything happens you'll ride double with me. We'll spend the afternoon near here with the younglings. After dinner, you are learning to fly. You need to be able to manage in an emergency."

Hermione rubbed her temples. She could do it. It wasn't exactly that she was afraid of flying. She just didn't like it. It wasn't as if people hadn't tried to teach her since Madam Hooch. Ginny, Harry, and Ron had all made attempts, most of which were short-lived by Hermione's choice. But there wasn't a choice here. She was going to have to tough it out or she may as well go home. And she was not going to give up and go home. It was one thing if she finished this week out and decided that she didn't want to do this, but there was no way she was giving up before she'd really gotten started. "Alright."

"I was a championship-winning Seeker. You'll be in good hands."

She snorted. "So was Harry."

Charlie shrugged it off and strapped his broom to his back, motioning her to follow him. They each grabbed a large carry sack he'd prepared and off they went. They had a bit of a hike before them. "Yes, but as I understand it he was a bit of a natural wild talent. I've got talent, but I was trained by Bill when I was ten, and I know how to teach. He taught me his first year when he came over for Christmas. Plus, Fred and George were practically human bludgers themselves." He kept up conversation with her on the hike, telling her more about what they did here and frequently interrupting himself to point out a particular dragon and tell her its history.

The elderly green dragons were around the area where Charlie expected to find them, though it took a little hunting. One of the dragons had a white patch in its eye where it was growing blind.

"Can you do anything for it?" Hermione asked quietly.

"We leave extra meat for him since he doesn't hunt so well now. And I stuff vials of medicine in the carcasses. There's a good one for the arthritis I suspect he has, and something to help loosen his wing muscles that don't work so well now. But once they're this big, it's hard to give them the sort of doctoring they get as younglings. If there's a severe injury we'll get a whole group of us together and stun the dragon and do what we can to heal the wound or at least clean it and pack it with something to speed the healing. As much of our job is studying the dragons and keeping other wizards away as it is taking care of the dragons themselves."

For all Hermione had read about them, it was still something else again to see the dragons so close up. She hadn't been this close to an adult dragon since they'd freed the dragon from Gringotts. That poor thing had been so emaciated and in such poor shape. She wondered what had happened to it. As they went about their work in the greens section she asked if he thought it would have survived.

"Oh probably. If the reports are right, that was a Ukrainian Ironbelly. It takes a lot to kill a dragon. If that one was still strong enough to break out with the three of you to help, I suspect she's still around, though not likely to be willing to go anywhere where folks are. There's still some wild places where they can live and hunt though the world seems to shrink every day."

They were sweating and hot by the time they were done with the greens. They moved off a ways into a shaded ravine and had a short lunch before their hike back to the younglings.

After dinner, Charlie was as good as his word and he took Hermione out to an area a little way from the cottages to give her her first flying lesson in quite some time. She tried to keep an open mind. It was just another skill to learn. It wasn't as if she hadn't mastered most things she'd come across. Except this. And chess. Merlin, she hated chess. She tried to convince herself that chess was worse than flying but she couldn't quite believe it.

"Hermione, are you listening?"

"I am now."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You can't be afraid of the broom. It's not sentient, it's not going to hurt you. It's going to do exactly what you tell it to—and you're smart enough to tell it the right things, alright?" He guided her in positioning herself on one of the brooms he'd brought out. "That's good. Keep a grip with both hands, and kick off with your right foot. You want to go straight up."

Hermione did her best, she really did. But all she managed was a bit of a hop—the broom went up six inches and straight back down.

"It's okay. Really. Again."

At the end of a quarter hour she was wobbling in the air about a foot off the ground. At the end of half an hour, she still hadn't progressed past that point. "Should we call it a night?"

"Are you kidding? The night is young. We'll get there." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. She could get airborne but seemed to falter trying to really get any air under her. He wasn't sure if it was nerves or something else. Even though he said the broom couldn't sense her fear, he wasn't totally sure he believed it. "I want to try something else."

A few minutes later Hermione had her arms wrapped around Charlie's waist. She was pressed against him on the broom…and blindfolded. "I'm still not sure why I have to be blindfolded."

"Because you can't trust your eyes. You can get one foot off the ground. Once you're going straight one foot off the ground doesn't feel any different than 60 feet off the ground. And you need to learn it. You'll learn better if you're not watching the ground zip past. I'll be the eyes for both of us." Without giving her time to worry about it, he kicked off, and then shot forward.

Hermione could feel the air zipping past her. They probably weren't going as fast as a car. Or a train. She'd been on both of those. Speed wasn't a problem. Admittedly speeding forward in a metal box felt safer than speeding vulnerably through the air. "Did you get hurt?"

"What?"

"When Bill taught you to fly. Did you get hurt?"

"I broke my arm. But that wasn't his fault. I was showing off—went into a dive I couldn't get out of fast enough. Don't think about it. How high off the ground do you think we are?"

"I don't know. I can't tell," she admitted. She was vaguely aware that he was taking them in a circle. After a few lazy loops he let her remove the blindfold as he brought them in to land.

"One more and then we'll call it a night."

Hermione was back on the broom by herself, but Charlie had blindfolded her again. She was tense, standing on the ground in take off position, shaking her head. This was a terrible idea.

"All you need to do is go straight up in the air and hover. When you're in the air, you can take the blindfold off and come in for your landing. I've got my wand and I'll be right here. Just kick off. You don't have to go forward, you just need to get some air under your broom."

She tried to steady her breathing. People flew brooms every day. Eleven year olds did it. Ron and Ginny and Harry and Draco could all do it. For Merlin's sake, even Teddy could fly a toy broom. She was going to do it. She was Hermione bloody Granger, wasn't she? She rode a _dragon_. She destroyed _Horcruxes_. She kicked off hard and rocketed into the air.

Charlie let out a whoop of celebration. "Take the blindfold off."

The broom wobbled a little as Hermione took one hand off the handle and raised the blindfold off one eye. "Merlin." She leaned forward in surprise and the broom dropped a little. She steadied both hands back on the handle, the blindfold still half on.

"You're in the air. Hold her steady and take the blindfold off. Come down nice and easy like I showed you."

It wasn't nice or easy. Hermione gritted her teeth. For good measure, she tightened her knees around the broom while her hand was busy discarding the blindfold. It wasn't a smooth descent and no one could call it a graceful landing, but she'd been thirty feet in the air and she made it back down again. She was glad to let the broom fall to the ground as her feet touched the grass.

He clapped her on the back. "Well done. We'll keep at it this week until I think you can get yourself out of danger in the field if things go south."

Hermione nodded. His methods were unorthodox, but she might just come out of this week able to fly. She never would have imagined that.

* * *

The sound of the scratching quill stopped abruptly. Blaise had finally figured out what was wrong with his friend's appearance today. It had been nagging at him nearly since he'd come in. "Draco, there's _cat hair_ on your robes." It wasn't much, a few strands on the cuff of his sleeve, and a couple of pieces on his shoulder, but Draco didn't have a cat, and he was meticulous about his appearance.

"Oh." He muttered his charm and the hair fell off.

"Are you shagging someone with a cat?"

"Are you done with those yet?" he asked, gesturing at the stack of parchment in front of his friend. Blaise came in three or four times a year to check out Draco's accounting and unsnarl anything that was looking messy. In general, there weren't many issues to find, but it was good to have another set of eyes look at them, and Blaise had always been excellent with numbers.

Blaise gave his friend a measuring look. He was not going to be derailed. "It must be the same girl you were mooning over when we had lunch this month." Draco gave his friend a warning glare but Blaise shrugged it aside. He was immune to glares from him. "Who is it?"

"I was not mooning. I'm not a schoolboy."

"Draco."

"The cat isn't mine. I'm just watching him this week."

The dark haired wizard snorted. "You've got it bad. Who is it?"

Draco pushed back from his desk and looked out the window. "You'd never believe if I told you anyway, so why should I waste my breath?"

"Try me. No, wait, let me guess." He put his finger to his temple as if trying to recall a memory. "It's Granger, isn't it?"

"How in Salazar's teeth did you possibly come up with _that_?"

A grin cracked open on his face. "I've got sources. It's not as if you've been discreet. You took her to a major wizarding event last week. You're not exactly front page news, but there are interested parties who exchange a word here and there."

The little color that was in Draco's face drained out. "Who knows what? I need to know everything."

Rumors about him and Hermione hadn't made it to the gossip columnists, which was worth being grateful over. But the Greengrasses, and Parkinsons, and his parents had all seen them together at the event. After all, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Not to mention the Gryffindorks who knew they were keeping company—after all the Longbottoms had thrown the party, and he'd made a spectacle of things at the Weaslette's Quidditch match. "I don't think you need to worry too much about things beyond mutual acquaintances at the events. But if you don't want word getting out, you might want to try to be a bit more discerning about where you go." Blaise had heard about the dinner from Astoria, and Astoria had heard about it from her parents. These things got around.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't been thinking about the larger ramifications of this. It was unlike him. He usually played things close to the chest—always with an eye to how it would appear from the outside—but this one was more complicated than he'd been willing to consider. She was famous, and he was infamous. Eventually the pair of them would attract some notice. "I was planning to take her to that French restaurant Millie's family owns when she gets back into town."

Blaise nodded. "Exclusive. Expensive. Utterly romantic." He paused. "You really like Granger? No lie?"

Draco nodded.

"Then that place is all wrong."

"Too visible?" He wouldn't have thought so, but Blaise tended to get around more than he did these days.

Setting down the quill he was still holding, Blaise leaned in. "Granger admires hard work. There were rumors third year that she was taking more classes than should have been possible. And she's used to doing things—" he stumbled for a moment, looking for a good word, "—the long way. Make her a gourmet meal at home. _That_ would impress her more than Millie's place. You haven't cooked for her yet, have you?"

"No, but it seems a little cheap to just invite her over. I told her I was going to sweep her off her feet."

Blaise had no doubt Draco could manage that. The accounts lay untouched on the desk as the afternoon slipped away from them.

* * *

Hermione grinned over her shoulder at Charlie as she started off for the area where they'd been working yesterday.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, get back here," he called. "We're not going to see the iron bellies until after lunch. I've got a surprise for you, it being your last day and all."

"Oh?" She paused and looked back at him. He was closer than she realized and the broom strapped to her back nearly hit him in the face as she turned. She was never going to play Quidditch, but she could fly well enough for a hasty escape if she needed to.

"Now if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. This way." Charlie led the way to the Norwegian Ridgeback territory. He'd been saving this for last. It was a heck of a hike to get where they were going, but they finally arrived.

Hermione stared at the dragon. She wasn't as large as some of the ones she'd seen this week, but she was impressive. The dragon sniffed the air. "This isn't…"

"Norberta just had her first hatching. All four eggs survived," Charlie told her quietly.

"I watched her hatch. At Hagrid's hut, back when I was a first year. I can't believe…She's beautiful." She couldn't imagine Hagrid trying to keep her in his hut. It never would have worked. She deserved a place to spread her wings. She moved around to the side, keeping low as Charlie had taught her, moving slowly so as to appear non-threatening. She was able to get relatively close to the nest. "Oh…I've got to write to Hagrid when I get home."

Charlie was standing with his arms crossed, grinning. "Aren't they beauts?"

Hermione nodded. One of the little dragons came near her, near enough to reach out and touch. She looked up at Norberta. Norberta was watching her, but there was no sign of fire or even smoke. She held out a cautious hand and the baby dragon slapped it playfully with its tail. These looked like they were probably the youngest dragons she'd been near this week. She was going to miss the reservation. She'd have a lot to think about when she got home.

Still, there were benefits to going home. There were certainly some things she was looking forward to. She wondered how Skimbleshanks and Draco were getting along. He'd sent her a short note that arrived about midweek promising that the cat had neither starved to death nor been accidentally dropped out the window, but that was all she'd heard given the time it took an owl to travel. He had included a postscript that asked her to please refrain from getting burned alive—it was too short notice for him to find another date for Saturday.


	13. Terra Firma

**Author's Note:** September is done at last. I don't know about you guys, but it's been whirlwind here. I was traveling quite a bit for last month—10 flights in 18 days. And 2 days before leaving for the first of those 3 trips…my laptop keyboard died. And not wanting to go without a computer altogether, I spent the next weeks lugging around an external keyboard so that I could at least use it in a pinch (does not work super well on a cramped flight). Anyway, my computer is fixed now, and I'm home, and some of the crazy things at work have slowed down now. And I can finally present: chapter 13! I managed the first 2/3 back in August and then September derailed everything—but it's October, and it's a fresh start, and the rest of the chapter flew out. Thank you guys for your support! And thank you as ever, to my beta reader Sunshine Katz for being awesome, and saving all of you from the worst of my over enthusiastic typos. Sometimes my fingers can't catch up to my brain.

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Terra Firma**

* * *

Merlin! It felt good to see her flat again. Getting through the Ministry on the return had taken a while. Charlie had let her take a few dragon scales and part of a shell back with her—they were useful in a number of potions. However, they had to be declared and inspected on being brought into the country and that had taken almost more time than it felt like they were worth. Oh well. They were hers now.

The flat was mostly as she'd left it. It looked strange with no litter box and no cat toys. Skim didn't come to sniff her ankles. It was funny how quickly you could get attached to someone; after all, she had only had him for a few weeks.

Her owl perch was empty, but there was a stack of mail on the table. She doubted there was anything there that couldn't wait a few hours. After all, it had waited this long.

She stowed her suitcase in a corner for the moment; she'd need to take everything out and wash it and put it away later. It was just after six, but with the time change it felt later. She was starving. She knew exactly where to go. In less than five minutes she'd put on a fresh sweater and was gone.

* * *

There was a knock at the door and when Draco opened it, Hermione was standing there, armed with bags of food. Her jeans had a bit of dried mud on the cuffs, and dirt across one knee. If it weren't for the food, he might have thought she came straight from the Ministry.

"Well, well," he said, looking at her with a grin. "I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"I figured you'd be in. After all, it's Valentine's Day. Draco Malfoy doesn't do dates on Valentine's Day."

He raised an eyebrow. "I could have been out."

"Unlikely." She had bet that a man who said he didn't want a date on Valentine's Day also wouldn't want to be out watching other couples making eyes at one another. She left it at that and changed the subject. "Consider this…not a date."

He pressed his lips together to suppress a smirk before asking. "Not a date?"

"Of course not. This is…a thank you dinner for taking care of Skimbleshanks this week. Can I come in?"

He stood aside and let her in. He eyed the flat, looking for anything out of place. There were fake mice behind the loveseat, and some sort of feathered toy Blaise had sent over as a joke; the furball rather liked it and had woken Draco up in the middle of the night trying to fish it out of the vase of flowers. The cat had succeeded in getting the toy back but only after the vase had thudded to the floor. There were bits of a magic mirror spell he was working on spread on the table. He took a quick glance at himself and murmured a wandless charm to remove the cat fur from his clothes. "Smells good. What's in the bag?"

Hermione settled herself at the table, opening the takeout boxes without disturbing the disassembled bits floating around on the table top. "Lamb gyros and chips from the kebab shop on my street."

While Draco gathered up silverware and beverages, Skim came over to investigate Hermione. He gave her a few casual sniffs and began vigorously rubbing himself against her ankles.

"Yes, yes, I missed you too." She reached down to scratch him behind the ears. The cat seemed to have all his limbs and be in good health. No obvious signs that he'd been distressed and started pulling his fur out and creating little bald patches—that had happened to the family cat once when she was little and they'd gone on vacation.

Two wine glasses and a bottle levitated over to the table, and Draco followed shortly afterwards. "I see that you've managed to avoid losing any limbs or getting burnt to a crisp." He poured them both some wine.

"Yes. There may have been some close calls, but I've made it through. Eat. What is all this?"

Draco took a cautious bite of his gyro. Not bad. He went on to explain about the mirror. The idea had a lot of merit if they could get the spell working right.

"A pair of magic mirrors to use in place of a Floo call? Harry's dad had something like that. Harry told me once that James and Sirius used to use them to talk to one another when they were stuck in separate detentions."

The blond wizard looked unimpressed. "The mirrors only worked with one another?"

Hermione shrugged. "As far as I know there were only two of them and they couldn't reach anyone else. The one Harry owned had been broken years ago."

Draco snorted. "Potter's father wasn't thinking big enough. The spell work will be complicated, but I think you could develop a…web of mirrors that could all reach each other, not unlike the Floo network. One of my clients came in with a smaller version of the concept, but I think they missed the big picture and their spell work isn't good enough to pull it off. I promised I'd take the project to the most talented spell crafter I knew and see what could be done."

Hermione couldn't help snickering and nearly dropped a chip in her lap. She glanced at the mirror and other bits on the table. "So you're taking it on yourself?"

"I've taken a personal interest in this case. And I am the best."

"You fixed one vanishing cabinet…"

"I fixed a pair of cabinets. And don't forget the Potter Stinks badges. If I could make those as a fourth year, imagine what I must be capable of now?" They had been a tidy piece of work. And the cabinet had been far from the last project he'd delved into. He did connect some of his clients with other spell crafters or potion makers or investors—but in some cases, especially if the product looked particularly intriguing or promising, he took a personal interest. He had better control of things that way, and a bigger cut later.

"Oh, I've had a week to think about exactly what you're capable of." She glanced around to look for a clock. "Or roughly, a week and eight or nine hours, give or take."

Draco couldn't help smirk. "Still keeping track?"

She shrugged. "No need to now. It's been a week. There's nothing else to keep track of, is there? Unless there's new rules you haven't told me about?"

Draco touched her hand, turning it over on the table and caressing the underside of her wrist with his thumb. "There will always be new rules. That's part of the game, isn't it? I've no doubt you've got your own set that you have only just begun to introduce me to."

That was hard to deny. She'd always been one for rules and structure herself. Admittedly this entire…whatever it was…she was doing with Draco seemed to have thrown out most of her old rules. "I suppose so." She tilted her head. "Are we still on for Saturday?"

"We are. I'll be picking you up at a quarter to seven."

"Dress code?"

He raised a finger in a no-no motion. "Per your stipulation when you agreed to the date, I will not say one word about what to wear. Wear whatever you'd like."

Hermione reached down and pulled Skimbleshanks into her lap. "I told you not to try and dress me. I would like to know what the dress code of the restaurant is. I wouldn't want to show up to high tea at the place you took me to last month in a pair of ratty jeans."

Draco shrugged. "You'll just have to take your chances. My lips are sealed. And while they're sealed, why don't you tell me about your week? Were the dragons everything you hoped for?"

With Skim purring on her lap and a mostly empty takeout box in front of her, Hermione started telling him about her week.

"And?"

"And they're magnificent creatures. I'm glad that there are people out there working to protect them. It's only going to get harder going forward. I like a challenge." She paused. Was she imagining it or had his face tensed slightly? "But I don't think that's the challenge for me. The reserve is a bit far from a good kebab shop."

Draco's face was quite serious. "That does sound like a hardship."

Hermione kept a straight face for as long as she could. "And not only that, can you imagine the trouble there'd be if Skimbleshanks got into one of the nests? He'd attack an egg, the dragon would attack him, I'd have to attack the dragon; it'd be a whole big thing and I'd probably get fired. Best not to go down that route. Plus there's the whole flying thing."

"The flying thing?"

"All the keepers carry broomsticks with them in the event of an emergency. The reserve has strong Anti-Apparition wards on it, so in the event you need a quick getaway, flying is the only option."

"And you don't fly."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and leaned across the table. "Are you sure about that?"

Draco looked back at her, trying to gauge whether she was serious. "I have a broom. Let's go."

"We're in the middle of London…"

"Easily fixable. And also not an issue. This is Diagon Alley after all." He pushed back from the table. "Are you game?" Salazar, if she said yes, he hoped he was wrong, otherwise it was going to be a very short flight straight to the cobblestones.

After only a moment's hesitation, they left Skim amongst the empty takeout containers and were standing in the foyer. Hermione fingered Draco's broom for a moment—it was smooth and hard in her hands. She could do this. She'd had practice this week. "Where are we going?" The foyer had one door leading to the stairwell and one going back into the flat. There was the large fireplace on one wall and a small window on the other.

"We take off from right here. You aren't the only one with special windows." Smirking, Draco tapped the window with his wand. It stretched, taking up most of the wall. Draco unlatched it and swung it open.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione straddled the broom. "What kind is this anyway?"

"One that won't be on the market for another three months." He came up behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and gripping the broom handle between their bodies with the other—he had better hold on tight until he was sure she could manage.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his comment and moved forward until they were at the edge of the window ledge. She was going to have to go up and forward or they'd hit their heads on the way out. She gritted her teeth. Here goes nothing… "You're sure we won't be seen?"

"Not by any Muggles. Just stick to Diagon Alley and we'll be fine. There are plenty of privacy wards."

"On three then." Hermione counted down and kicked off, leaning forward. They dropped a few feet before leveling out. Hermione looked down at the cobblestoned street below. She could see Gringotts up the way, and the Magical Menagerie. She was fine. She'd just do a quick flight down and back, just to prove she could. She felt Draco relax against her shortly after they leveled out; the hand that had been gripping the broom joined the other one around her waist. She could feel the wind on her face, and Draco's breath on her neck.

Lights twinkled in the windows of the shops that were still open. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was lit like a beacon, even at this hour. Things had been uncertain for a while after the war, but while George would never be the same, Lee had stuck by him. He and Ginny had kept the shop running during the months George couldn't even bear to set foot in it, and he'd done his best to help his best mate move forward. There was no getting over losing Fred. Some things you couldn't get over. But they were still living and making mischief. Lee had told George once that the only thing Fred wouldn't forgive was him sitting on his ass and giving up.

Hermione had a thought. "Do you ever send any work to them?" She waved a hand at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and the broom wavered for a moment as if it was going to turn towards the shop. She straightened it out again, gripping the handle just a little too hard.

"Weasleys? No, why?" He spoke up to be heard over the air rushing past them.

"They're brilliant. Well, George is brilliant. Lee is pretty good. You might want to look at their product line sometime. It's all developed in-house. I suspect they might be a good fit for some of the things you do—if they've got time."

"Hmm." Draco would tuck that into the back of his head for later. You never knew when information might come useful.

They landed outside the Leaky Cauldron, but opted not to go in for a drink. It was getting late and Hermione was ready to take Skim back home—a bubble bath would do her a world of good. Besides, the broom they were riding hadn't officially been released yet. No sense in risking the competition catching sight of it. Draco flew them back to his flat. They landed in the foyer; Hermione had been relieved not to be responsible for trying to manage that landing—not that she would have admitted it.

"See? I can fly."

Draco didn't say anything. He hung the broom back on its hook and kissed her. "I'm well aware there are few things you can't do if you put your mind to it." He tapped his wand to the window again and it shrank back to its former size.

They stood there in silence for a few moments, hand in hand.

"I ought to go. I've got to unpack and do laundry and…" Was any of it really pressing? It wasn't as if she had anywhere to be tomorrow. They'd been apart for a week. There was nothing stopping them. There wasn't even a cat to have to go home to—the cat was already here.

Draco squeezed her hand once and let go. "Yes, you're right." They were quiet as they gathered up Skim's things and went back into the foyer. His lips turned up in a smile just before she Disapparated. "'Til Saturday."

"'Til Saturday."

* * *

A cup of tea on the table beside her, Hermione sorted through the mail. She hadn't felt like doing anything last night except going to bed when she got in, but she'd gotten an early start today. The suitcase had been dealt with satisfactorily—clean things were put away, dirty things sorted out to be washed. She'd Scourgified the owl perch and put fresh food and water in the bowls; Athena had returned sometime in the night. Skim was contentedly lying on the couch, as at ease with his return home as he had been with his time away.

There was a letter from Mrs. Weasley, and one from Bill. There was a sheet from Flourish and Blotts inviting her to a book signing from an author she rather liked. There was a letter addressed to her on expensive looking parchment.

Mrs. Weasley thanked her for bringing her care package to Charlie and reminded her of her standing invitation to come over for tea. Bill was having some difficulties getting the goblins to agree to let her into the area of the bank where he worked—they had long memories—but he was doing some work for the Burke family outside the bank and she could come along for that.

Hermione saved the creamy parchment for last. The writing was vaguely familiar—if it was from who she thought it was, she couldn't imagine what the witch would have to say to her.

It was from her.

Hermione read it over, had her tea, and read it again. Narcissa had sent it days ago. She wanted to get together for lunch tomorrow. She'd had the grace this time to recommend somewhere outside the Manor—without ever mentioning that the Manor evidently had been an inconsiderate choice previously.

Merlin.

There was really no reason to see this woman. She'd been held prisoner in her basement. There was Draco, but…whatever she and Draco were doing was still early. They hadn't even really officially gone out yet. It's not like Narcissa was her mother-in-law or anything. _That_ was a horrible thought.

On the other hand, she'd had fun at the Patched Cloak dinner. Watching Narcissa Malfoy squirm and have to be polite as she'd seamlessly fitted into a wizarding event had been enjoyable. She enjoyed a good verbal spar—and as far as she could tell, Draco wasn't invited to this lunch. It would just be the two of them.

She wondered what the witch really wanted.

Hermione delayed for the better part of an hour, puttering around the flat and ignoring the blank sheet of parchment she'd gotten out. Curiosity eventually got the better of her.

* * *

The restaurant had a subdued atmosphere—muted lighting, trailing greenery. Narcissa had arrived early and selected a table in the corner near a window. A steaming pot of tea sat on the table. She looked up and smiled as the waiter approached.

The chair slid itself out and Hermione sat down. The girl was wearing a dress and heels. An odd choice for what had clearly been a wizarding venue. No doubt deliberate.

Narcissa gave her a charming smile. "Tea?"

Hermione accepted with the appropriate pleasantries and the teapot rose and filled the little porcelain cup in front of her.

The blonde witch viewed her over the top of her own cup for a moment before setting it down with a smile. "I'm so glad you were able to make it today. I wasn't sure you'd come."

"It was a near thing. I've been out of town for the last week and only returned on Tuesday evening."

Narcissa was well aware of that. She hadn't known about the dragons when she sent the invitation, but she'd done some digging when she hadn't heard back after the first day. She still had connections; getting word about travel to Romania had been a surprise. Still, she got what she wanted. The girl was here. "Well, I'm pleased you've returned and we can get together. Have you been here before?"

Hermione hadn't, and she and Narcissa made perfectly civil small talk as she recommended her favorite dishes and they ordered when the waiter returned. Hermione bided her time, charming and polite, waiting for Narcissa to show her hand.

Narcissa seemed content to discuss little things—she asked about Hermione's week, and told her about some of her own efforts. They'd finished salads and were halfway through the main course when the conversation stumbled into something of genuine interest to Hermione. "The textbook drive and wand collection this year went so well, but Alathea Fawley told me that she's having the hardest time finding someone suitable to head up the outreach program between Muggle-born and wizarding families."

"Well, I'm not surprised. It's so _vaguely_ defined. And it's long overdue. The person who takes it on is going to have their work cut out for them trying to heal centuries of bad blood and prejudice on the wizarding side, and a massive culture shock on the Muggle side. And the whole project needs to be approached in a relatable and not condescending way. An optional Muggle Studies class at Hogwarts is hardly sufficient for giving wizards any real understanding of Muggle life—I took the class myself just to see what my classmates were being taught about people like me." Hermione sipped her drink to give herself a moment. It had been a bit more of an impassioned speech than she imagined when she opened her mouth. "Aside from that, while there's a cursory attempt to teach young wizards and witches about Muggle life, there's no equivalent class or program that explores everyday parts of wizarding life that a Muggle-born witch or wizard wouldn't experience at Hogwarts."

Narcissa may have raised her eyebrow fractionally, but there was a pleasant smile on her face. "And there's the other problem too."

"Which is?"

"I imagined you may have noticed a certain…skewing in the demographics at the award reception?"

Hermione nodded. "Older witches mostly, from wizarding families. Relatively low numbers of young people, or men, and few Muggle-borns in attendance." In fact, as far as she knew she might have been the only one. She'd certainly recognized a fair number of the names as long-established bloodlines—Longbottoms, Greengrasses, Parkinsons, not to mention the Malfoys. "I think there's an economic factor to consider as well."

Salazar's teeth she hated for anyone to classify her as an _older witch,_ butNarcissa nodded; she'd seen it too."Most of those…older witches…don't have to work for a living."

Hermione pursed her lips; she supposed the comment had gotten under the other woman's skin. Oh well. "As I understand it, most well-established wizarding businesses often stay within the family. It makes it that much harder for newcomers to establish themselves, short of taking a paper-pushing job with the Ministry, or writing for the _Prophet_ or…" Merlin, what were some other jobs she'd put on her list? It had certainly been long enough. "So the people most likely suited to take on something like this are in the least available place for having the time and energy to do so."

"Precisely the problem as I see it." Narcissa tapped her plate three times and it disappeared, together with the remains of her salad.

"Half the problem," Hermione corrected. "I think you're looking at something that needs a joint venture. They need someone with enough familiarity with the Muggle world to bring wizards into this century, but you also need someone on the other side of the fence. I'm well aware that no matter how many books I've read since receiving my letter there are…certain blindspots I may not yet be aware of." It was a difficult admission to make to this woman, but she made it smoothly. She tapped her plate three times as well and it vanished to the kitchen.

"Well, if there are blindspots, you cover them well," Narcissa said charitably, wondering idly what they might be. She tried to imagine what things she did with magic that a Muggle-born witch might not be aware of. Did Hermione know the charm for lifting and stabilizing her breasts? Or holding her stockings up? Or did she wear some sort of Muggle contraption to do the same job? She supposed those were the sorts of questions one couldn't ask. What else might someone not know? She gave herself a mental shake. "What you're really saying is it needs to be a joint venture?"

Hermione nodded. "It does. And it's a mountain of work—for a very good cause. But at least one half of the team you'll need is likely someone who already works full-time out of necessity. And what we've described sounds like more than a full-time job in and of itself."

"And most work of this sort is usually unpaid. I see the difficulty." Alathea could certainly afford to hire at least one person on full-time to this project. And a few words in the right ears might be able to secure Ministry funding as well.

"It's a shame that practicalities could cause issues for a program that sounds like it's so vital—if someone could find a way to make it work. People don't change overnight, but longterm change is needed if the events of recent decades aren't to repeat themselves." Hermione sipped her drink and looked at Narcissa. She took steadying breaths. Don't think about this woman's complicity in your kidnap and torture. Don't think about the fact that she raised a spoiled brat who bullied you for years—and somehow grew into a charming, intelligent wizard with delicious lips. Don't…

"Miss Granger, are you all right?" Narcissa signaled with one hand and a waiter arrived and poured Hermione a glass of water. She studied the young woman's face. She'd seen that look often enough on Draco's face when he was reminded of that year. All she could do was forge ahead.

Hermione took another breath, smiled at the waiter, and sipped her water gratefully. "Quite all right," she lied. "I do wish Alathea the best of luck in trying to find the right people to take on that task. I think we'd both agree that it sorely needs doing." She looked at the woman across the table from her, trying to remind herself that whether the witch believed in any of it or not, she was ostensibly doing things that should ultimately try and make things better for people. Surely her current actions counted for something.

"I don't disagree." Narcissa pursed her lips and paused a moment before continuing. "I'll be sure to mention these unique needs to Alathea when I next see her. Perhaps Minerva McGonagall might have some people she could recommend to us."

The waiter glided back over again to see if they could be tempted to some dessert.

Not ready to quite bring the conversation to a close, Narcissa consented to an apple rose puff pastry. Hermione ordered a mini-cherry tart.

"Alathea Fawley…I don't recall seeing anyone by that name at the reception last month."

"She's quite involved, though not terribly social these days I'm afraid. Her husband had quite a bad strain of Dragon Pox some years ago, and it's left her a bit wary of mixing with large crowds. She caught it as well, but managed to survive."

"It's a pity that with all our magic there are so many things in this world that we still can't fix."

"Quite."

Dessert arrived and Hermione was in the middle of swallowing her first bite when Narcissa smiled at her. "I know it was short notice on a busy week for you, but I'm so glad you could come today. I've enjoyed our little chat. I think it's so important to spend some time one on one with the young woman Draco's courting."

Hermione only just barely managed to swallow her tart. She took a sip of her drink. _Courting_? What century was this? _Courting_? That sounded far more…serious than whatever they were doing. Not that any of it was Narcissa's business whatsoever. He was a grown man. Merlin. For a moment, talking about making the wizarding world better, she'd nearly let herself forget who she was talking to. Merlin, Circe, Morgana. Lean into it? Or deny?

Narcissa let a shadow of a smile grace her lips as she took the final bite of her pastry. She suspected she had caught the younger witch off-guard. But for what reason?

What the hell. Hermione gave the most sincere smile she could manage. "Draco and I have been enjoying one another's company so much lately. He's matured so much since our school days. Savvy, and sweet. I can only think he must have surrounded himself with better influences the last few years. He's such a…man now instead of a boy." She let her smile go a little dreamy, and then blinked and looked back at Narcissa. She confided, "He even gets along with the Weasleys and Harry. They're really the only family I have. And Teddy Lupin of course."

Narcissa didn't quite manage to hide that she was startled. Well, now she knew who had let the Kneazle out of the bag about Andromeda.

Time to ice the cake. "It was so cute watching Draco and Teddy together. You could just see them bonding."

Narcissa could clearly see the implication. If the girl was already picturing Draco as the father of her children, they were far further gone than she'd realized. She'd have to have him over for dinner soon and see if she could learn anything else. She doubted she'd be able to get Hermione to the Manor any time soon. She suppressed a sigh. The young woman did rather have a point about her previous visit. There was work to do. "It's a shame he never had any siblings or cousins close to his own age. I think he would have been an excellent elder brother."

"Quite," Hermione said, smiling easily. Well, she'd wanted to discomfit Narcissa. She might have even succeeded. They parted ways with mutual smiles, Hermione making an excuse about needing to prepare some things for her next job preview.

"Where are you considering?"

"A good friend of mine is a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts. It sounds like a fascinating line of work."

Narcissa had to stifle a real laugh. After what that girl had done to Gringotts? She had some moxie to even _try_ to apply for any sort of work with them. She had to be lucky the goblins even still let her store any gold with them. "I wish you the best of luck."


	14. Dinner for Two

**Author's Note:** I managed the first couple pages and then got trapped in writer's block. However, this weekend, I went to NYC with my family and got stuck in the airport with a delayed flight. I finally found myself able to write again. Airplanes being what they are I didn't quite have space to pull my laptop out when we finally boarded, so I kept writing on my phone. I can't tell you how good it felt to be writing again. Thank you as always to my beta, SunshineKatz, and thank you to everyone still reading this. Any remaining mistakes are my own impatience for they days my fingers can't catch up to my brain. I'm several pages into the next chapter and it feels like things are coming together.

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Dinner for Two**

* * *

Bill's owl had been a bit disappointing, but she supposed it wasn't entirely surprising. Word about these sorts of things did get around. She couldn't blame a family for not wanting her around their breakables—not after the dragon at Gringotts. Or maybe it was their house-elves they didn't want her around, though she doubted that her young efforts at the Society for Promoting Elvish Welfare had done much more than annoy her classmates.

Still, she had set aside the day for this and now what was she going to do? She scratched Skim behind the ears and sighed. It wasn't like her life was teeming with responsibilities at the moment. She didn't have any potions in progress at the moment, as she'd planned to be out all day. She could start a new book-there was always something worth reading out there.

Lunch with Narcissa had certainly given her food for thought. There was still a lot of good she could do in the world if she could figure out how and where to apply herself. Admittedly that was the million Galleon question. She could do anything. What did she _want_ to do?

Maybe—to start with—she'd have tea with Molly. She had promised. As she jotted a note to Molly on a scrap of parchment checking that it was okay to come over later, Hermione couldn't help but think those mirrors Draco was working on were a long overdue need in the wizarding world.

* * *

Draco rubbed his temples and considered tossing the letter in the fireplace. Salazar's tongue. The last thing he needed was his mother getting into his head or Hermione's before their date tomorrow. It was strange enough he was going out with her.

Why in the name of all the Founders had they had lunch yesterday?

And why did his mother feel the need to tell him about it?

It had only been mentioned in passing in the letter, but after reading it three times, Draco was sure that it was the real reason she'd written to him.

Attempts to bury himself in his work didn't seem to be helping. He couldn't concentrate on the mirror spell and he'd already sent off a final critique of the broom—it was ready for release, pending their marketing strategy. The timing would be about perfect with the influx of students home from Hogwarts for the summer.

He was nearly ready to give up and call it a day—even if it was only half past two—when his fireplace flared to life. He leaned back in his chair and a smile slid into place, anticipating who it would be.

He heard a voice call out his name and frowned.

Oh well, his best mate wasn't a bad alternative. "In here."

Blaise popped his head around the corner and grinned. "Ah, there you are. All set for tomorrow?"

"Nearly."

Blaise dropped into the chair in front of his friend's desk. "You're not having second thoughts are you?"

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "Not about her."

"Is there someone else?"

Draco held out the letter. "My mother had lunch with Hermione yesterday. I can't tell if she approves or disapproves."

"Not that it matters, since you'll do what you want. You mostly gave up trying to please her years ago."

"Hmm. I don't need to please her, but it helps to know what she's thinking. If I knew her endgame I might have a chance at managing to keep her at a distance." He was drawn to Hermione, more strongly than he'd been to anyone in quite some time. In just a few short weeks…he was already starting to miss her in the time they were apart. It had been a long time since he'd let himself get so…attached to anyone. She was so…Hermione Granger. And that didn't seem to be the curse he'd once thought it was.

Blaise tossed the letter aside after a second reading. "Narcissa Malfoy is not an unstoppable force."

"No." Draco pursed his lips. "She's more like a trickle of water wearing away the surrounding landscape over time."

It was hard to disagree with that. "So, what are you going to?"

He grimaced. "I'm going to do my best to ignore this letter, and send the best gossip-monger I know to see what he can find out from my father."

"And where am I going?"

"It's Friday. I would try Madam Smoke's shop. As much as he won't get rid of the Manor, I'd say it chafes at him sometimes. He gets out when he can."

Blaise gave a wry smile. "I suppose I'd best get to it then."

* * *

Though there was an edge of apprehension at finally visiting the Burrow again after avoiding it for months, Hermione found it dissipated quickly after arriving. With her parents in Australia and the little house she grew up in long gone, the Burrow was the closest thing she had left to a childhood home unless she wanted to count Hogwarts. The clock on the wall was missing a hand now. For a long time after they lost Fred, the clock had sat in the closet. Molly couldn't bear to look at it, but wouldn't let it go. Eventually she'd removed the hand and hung the clock back in its rightful place. Ginny told her once that she suspected Fred's hand was in her mother's jewelry box, but she'd never checked. Hermione rather thought George might have taken it.

Hermione gave herself a mental shake. Through all the changes it still felt like home here. Maybe she shouldn't have been avoiding it the last few months. Then again, she hadn't exactly felt like herself then.

She turned around and saw Molly was fixing sandwiches. While the Weasley matriarch was engaged in that, Hermione went to the cupboard for teacups and spoons. Everything lived where it always had.

She listened as Molly chattered on about family news—Arthur's back just wasn't up to de-gnoming the garden these days, but Harry had promised to come over and help this weekend. Wasn't Teddy such an energetic and beautiful little boy? She suspected that when it came time for lessons Harry would have his work cut out for him with that one. Still, it couldn't be worse than four or five at once.

Hermione nodded along, interjecting occasionally. It was good to feel at home.

* * *

Saturday morning dawned bright and chilly. It would be a while yet before spring properly took hold. She'd slept on Molly's advice and still thought it was pretty reasonable. She'd reach out to Neville's grandmother and maybe McGonagall next week and see if they knew of any projects that could use her help. She still had no intention of teaching at Hogwarts—maybe in a few decades—but Minerva McGonagall was the sort of person who always knew what was going on in the world.

In the meantime, she fed the cat and made herself a cup of tea before taking a leisurely bath with a book. The small pleasures in life really made all the difference. She lingered there for a while, content in the hot water and the scent of jasmine. Eventually, she peeled herself out. She'd run into Ginny at the Burrow yesterday and she was coming over for a late brunch.

Hermione was in the midst of frying sausages when Ginny arrived through the fireplace. They hadn't really had much of a chance to talk yesterday for more than a moment.

"That smells amazing."

"The eggs and tomatoes are done, and the mushrooms are nearly ready. Should have these sausages up soon and then we can eat."

"Anything left for me to do?"

"Plates and silverware. And could you get me some juice?"

Ginny nodded and got to it. The only dishes in the sink seemed to be what had already been used that morning. The cupboard was filled with plenty of food. Hermione seemed…chipper. It was a far cry from the state she'd seen her friend in the previous month.

They went about finishing up the breakfast making tasks and settled in at the table to eat.

"You look good, Hermione. I guess that visit to Charlie agreed with you?"

Hermione shrugged and smiled. "I'm glad I went. It was an incredible experience. And it was nice to get to spend a bit of time with Charlie, you know? Of all your brothers I've probably spent the least time with him."

"And? What did you think?"

"He loves what he does. And it was…amazing. But I don't think the reserve is the place for me. Just not the right fit. I did learn something though."

Ginny scooped up a bit of egg with her toast. "Oh?"

"Charlie taught me to fly."

"No."

Hermione grinned. "He did."

"Have you told Harry and Ron?"

"No. I mean, I don't like flying any better than I did before, but I can do it now. Only took an utterly insane teacher to get me through the process."

The two of them relayed stories from their week and lingered over their meal and several cups of tea.

"This is nice. I've missed this."

"Me too." Ginny silently resolved to continue making a better effort at seeing her friend. It was so easy to lose touch when your days were filled with work and your social life starts to revolve around work events. "Yesterday you said something about a date tonight?"

Hermione's face might have flushed a little pink. "Yes. Malfoy and I are finally going out."

"Haven't you been for weeks now?"

"Not exactly…" It was hard to put into words, but Hermione did her best. "We've been seeing each other, but not exactly labeling it. He escorted me to the Quidditch match. I was his date for his mother's charity award reception. I don't know. But this isn't ambiguous. He asked me out on a date—a real date." She buried her face in her hands for a moment and looked up. "I was all ready to just have a quick shag with him a month ago. And it didn't happen. And now we're finally going out…and it's Malfoy. Isn't this a terrible idea? We've been having fun but…it's _Malfoy_." It didn't feel like this was going to be a quick shag and going their separate ways. It was starting to feel like a relationship. And she didn't think it was one-sided. But who could tell?

Ginny paused. "Well, what are you worried about?"

"It's Malfoy. And I'm having…feelings…and it's Malfoy and for all his charm, he's probably not."

The redhead was silent again as she weighed the words about to come out of her mouth. "I can't tell you what he is or isn't feeling…but I can tell you that he's got a shred of decency and he cares about what happens to you."

"How do you know that?"

"Believe me. I know." If he hadn't, he wouldn't have bothered trying to get them all to pay attention to Hermione again. And he'd clearly not jumped in the sack with her when she was vulnerable. It wasn't enough to exactly say he had _feelings_ about her, but it was enough to say this was probably a bit more than a shag. "Go on your date."

Hermione studied her friend's face for a moment. She thought about pushing the issue and thought better of it. Ginny tended to be better at keeping a secret than Ron or Harry usually were. Odds were she'd cornered Malfoy and threatened him; Hermione wasn't sure she really needed to hear her say it. If Ginny thought she should go—and she really wanted to go—that was probably good enough. "Oh, did I tell you about the lunch I had with Narcissa this week?"

"No…"

When they finished talking at last, Ginny helped Hermione tidy up the kitchen before heading out. She stopped at the fireplace and turned back. "Do you need to borrow anything to wear tonight?"

"No, I have just the thing." She waved her friend off and settled down on the sofa with a book and a cat in her lap until it was time to get ready.

After dressing, Hermione smoothed her dress down and looked in the mirror one last time. She was as ready as she was going to get. She hadn't had butterflies in her stomach like this in…when was the last time? The nerves, the anticipation… She felt…she couldn't even put it into words. She just _felt_. And after all those months of gray numbness hanging over everything it felt so good just to _feel_.

Whatever was in her future—dragons, social change, Draco Malfoy—she felt ready to handle it. Well, she didn't want dragons, probably. But she could handle dragons if she wanted to. It was her choice.

At exactly seven, Hermione's fireplace flared to life again. She'd been lingering nearby and trying not to pace. There he was.

Draco emerged with a smile that sent a shiver through her. He was holding a bouquet of roses. He was immaculately dressed as always—blue robes with tiny buttons down the front. They were a little more fitted than some of his usual sets, coming in at the wrists with more buttons, tapering at the waist. His eyes roved over her in turn and the smile changed to a smirk. He knew that dress.

It was sleeveless, with a little cleavage, but not too much. This time she'd brought the whole package. Her heels matched the dress, and her hair was done up, leaving her neck deliciously bare. He imagined pulling one or two pins out would send the whole lot of it cascading over her shoulders. Her makeup was there, but subtle. She clutched a little beaded bag in one hand. He noticed the necklace he'd given her cradled against the hollow of her throat. A shawl rested at her elbows. He wondered how long he'd been standing there staring and realized he was probably overdue to say something. This witch was going to be the death of him.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked, taking the bouquet from him.

"You look ravishing," Draco said, taking her hand and bring it to his lips. Salazar.

"I do hope this doesn't disappoint. After all, no one bothered to tell me where we were going…" She went into the kitchen for a vase and water for the flowers and set them on the coffee table with a fond smile. When was the last time anyone had brought her flowers?

"It's perfect." He looked around the flat. Everything seemed tidy. The cat was ignoring a bowl full of food to saunter over and sniff his ankles. "You are not coming with us," he warned it.

Skim gave him a blink of disapproval and swaggered off to stand by the owl perch.

Hermione felt a little warm and hoped it wasn't showing in her face. "So, now do I get to know where we are going?"

"You'll see when we get there." He raised her hand to his lips again, kissing the knuckles this time. He pulled her whole body close, pressing her back to his chest. Wrapping his arm around her, he whispered in her ear. "Ready?"

His breath was warm against her skin and she suppressed a sigh. "Ready."

He Disapparated them.

To Hermione's surprise, they materialized in Draco's own foyer. There was the window she'd flown out of, and the door that she knew led down the stairs to his office.

"Welcome," he said, relaxing his hold on her and leading the way in.

Hermione looked around as she entered. Candles lit the room in a soft glow—there was a candelabra on the table and candles floating in a few corners. Several vases of roses had been staged around the flat: red, pink, white, and yellow all mixed together. Quiet, slow music was coming from somewhere. There were no odds and ends of half finished spells out on the table. Instead, the table was set for two with napkins, wine glasses, and silverware at the ready.

A smell caught Hermione's attention. Malfoy was cooking? No... "Did you borrow a house-elf?" She tried to keep the distaste out of her voice.

He pressed himself against her back; she could feel his chuckle as much as she could hear it. "No."

"You hired a chef."

"No."

"Surely you're not..."

"I am. I thought that rather than go out to some crowded restaurant with a rude waiter, we might as well eat here. I can always be rude while bringing the dishes out it if you really insist on it."

Hermione laughed and followed him into the kitchen. It smelled good.

"I do hope the menu suits. We have salad, lamb chops, roasted potatoes, and for dessert…we'll have to see."

"Oh it suits," she assured him.

He flicked his wand and the salad bowls and a bottle of wine levitated towards the table. He shooed her along after them. The lamb and potatoes were nearly done and waiting under a stasis spell for a final blast of magic from him. There was asparagus tucked away as well. Taking her shawl and draping it over the back of the chair, he pulled her chair out for her before seating himself and uncorking the wine. He poured them each a glass and took a sip to steady himself. It all seemed to be going well so far. Blaise had been right—it was important to know your audience.

Hermione picked up her salad fork and took a bite. The dressing was interesting. Some sort of vinaigrette. She wondered if he'd made it himself.

He smiled at her across the table. "Blaise offered to serve as our waiter when I mentioned I planned to cook tonight, but I thought it was better not to subject you to any more former Slytherins than strictly necessary."

Hermione nodded in great seriousness. "You were afraid I might think he was more handsome than you."

"Handsome? No, but he is surprisingly charming when he wants to be. Wouldn't want you under his spell."

"Just yours."

He smiled and didn't say anything for a moment. He raised his glass.

"And to what are we toasting?" Hermione asked, picking up her own.

"An end to schoolyard rivalries?" he suggested.

She kept her glass away from his. "I'll believe that when you make dinner for Harry and Ron."

He frowned. "An end to Gryffindor girls being stuck up know-it-alls?"

She snorted. "You don't seem to be very good at this. How about: to new beginnings."

He nodded and a smile crept over his face. "To new beginnings."

She echoed him, clinked glasses and sipped her wine. It was deliciously smooth.

They made small talk through the salad course. Hermione found herself wondering exactly how many buttons were on his robes. She suspected he'd look rather good in a good set of trousers and a button down shirt if he ever deigned to wear Muggle clothes.

He asked about curse-breaking.

"My field day got canceled. Evidently people get touchy when they find out you've freed a guard dragon and demolished half a bank in the process. I'm exploring some other avenues now."

Draco tried to prevent himself from laughing and failed.

"Evidently it doesn't matter that enslaving that dragon in the first place was wrong, or that she was released in the quest for the greater good."

"People do tend to get touchy about property damage."

"I'll do my best not to damage anything here, but no promises." She was aware of the way his gaze lingered on her chest from time to time as they dined. Seven weeks of playing cat and mouse with each other hadn't seemed to cool either of them off. She refilled their wine glasses while he took the salad plates to the kitchen.

Draco emerged followed by a string of levitating dishes—two plates of lamb chops and roasted potatoes and asparagus, a bowl of sauce of some sort, bread rolls, a little dish of butter. Hermione watched as each dish landed itself on the table. It was a bit reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast—but she had a far more agreeable table-mate than Belle ever had. "Enjoy. I don't slave away in the kitchen for everyone, you know."

The lamb was tender and nearly fell apart in her mouth. She only just stopped herself from making a noise that would have been more appropriate in the bedroom than at the table. "This is delicious."

Draco smiled. He'd have to send Blaise a bottle of wine from his father's cellar. He'd been right. A private home cooked meal had absolutely been the way to go tonight. He wished his friend had managed to wrangle some information out of his father yesterday. No matter. He was certainly _not_ going to think about his mother tonight. Whatever her schemes were, they could wait. There were more pressing matters tonight. "With curse breaking and dragons off the table, what will you do with yourself? Are you sure you won't reconsider my offer? My office gets a bit lonely."

"Absolutely not. And…I don't know exactly. But it's okay. I can get by for now. And knowing what I don't want to do puts me one step closer to figuring out what I do want. I plan to send more owls out next week. Who knows? Maybe I'll even do some traveling. It'd be nice to travel when you're not being hunted. You know I've never taken the time to visit any of the other wizarding communities in Europe?" Viktor had told her she ought to visit him in Bulgaria, but the timing had never worked out.

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, running his thumb along the outside edge of hers. He gave it another squeeze and picked up his knife again. "The French wizards tend to be a bit of a bore—stuck up snobs—and that's saying something coming from me. But Italy...there's a very nice wizarding community on one of the smaller islands. Warm even this time of year. Blaise has family out there."

"Damn. Maybe I'm on a date with the wrong wizard. Do you think he might be free tonight?"

He gave her a long, slow look. "Before tonight is over, you won't even be able to remember his name."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"A promise." He stood and dragged his nails lightly over her arm, making her shiver. He kissed her neck slowly, lingering. And then he straightened, taking her empty plate. Her eyes followed him into the kitchen.

He came back out for the rest of the dishes and she asked, "Can I help with anything?"

"You just stay there and look beautiful. I'll be out with dessert in a moment."

She watched him go. Merlin he sent shivers down her spine. No need to rush, she reminded herself. They had all night.

Draco brushed his fingers through his hair, peeking back out at the table at Hermione. Salazar's teeth she looked good tonight. She just...shone. He was once again having thoughts about hiking that dress up and clearing the table, but he squashed them. He had all night to make her moan his name. To memorize every inch of her.

He picked up the two dessert dishes. The French may be snobs, but they knew dessert.

He came out and set the two dishes at their places. With a flick of his wand, the sugar on top briefly caught fire, leaving a hard crystallized surface. "Enjoy."

And she did. The little bowl of creme brûlée was decadently delicious. Draco watched as her tongue darted out to catch a bit from the corner of her mouth. "You may be wasted in...whatever exactly you call your field. Have you thought of opening a restaurant?"

He chuckled, shaking his head and scooping his last spoonful. "Far too much work. Where I'm at now I can take on the clients that appeal to me, either take on the work myself or pass it to someone else for a fee, and entirely set my own hours. I've got no desire to take on anything that keeps me working all evening every weekend. It's important to keep time set aside for pleasure."

"Too true. I shall consider myself lucky to have tasted this." She picked up the wine bottle and split what was left of it between this glasses. "A toast—to a little well-deserved selfishness."

"A toast to pleasure."

She could drink to that. She touched her glass to his again. They sat in silence for a few minutes, regarding one another. Hermione stood up to take the dessert dishes back to the kitchen, and Draco took her wrist.

"Leave them. I want to show you the roof. It's upstairs."

She raised an eyebrow, leaned down, and kissed him slowly. His hand dropped from her wrist. She proceeded to take the dishes to the kitchen anyway, doing her best to smother a grin.

When she came back, he was holding her wrap in his hands and he draped it around her shoulders. He led the way to one of the doors she hadn't been through yet—it turned out to be a workroom and not his bedroom. Hermione didn't have a chance to look at his ongoing projects. There was a small spiral staircase in corner and he led her straight to it, tapping a door in the ceiling with his wand.

There was a small rooftop garden. Hedges surrounded it. A small fountain stood in the center. Fairy lights hung between some of the potted plants. The air was a little chilly but not as cold as it should be for February. There was a stone bench with cushions tucked away across from the fountain. The faint music Hermione had heard earlier was louder up here—Hermione spotted what looked like a gramophone off to one side.

"May I have this dance?" he asked.

"You may."

"And I can guarantee no one will cut in this time." He slipped both arms around her hips, pulling her close. Her arms came together behind his neck as they began to move to the music.

Hermione laughed. "I told you then that you had no right to be jealous."

"That was weeks ago. Do I now?"

"Have the right to be jealous?" She frowned as if in deep thought. "I don't know about that. I was thinking of seeing if Blaise was free next week…"

He squeezed her a little lower and harder than was necessary and she may or may not have yelped slightly.

"Did you just squeeze my ass?"

"Who me? It could have been the hedge over there. It's a specialty bred security hedge. They grab strangers. Better stand a little closer."

She pressed herself against his chest, tilting her head to kiss him. She was gratified to hear a quiet moan from him as she worked her lips up his neck, pausing to suck on his earlobe. She threaded her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck, pulling his head back a little, working her way to the pulse point at his throat. He smelled delicious.

Breathing hard, Draco did his best to keep his composure. They were still dancing, somewhat. He took several steps, moving them in a circle, and then dipping her. She was surprised enough that her lips separated from his throat. _My turn_ , he thought.

She straightened back up again, pressed as close to him as she could get. He kissed her shoulder, over the strap of her dress. He kissed the bare skin between her dress and her neck. He grazed the delicate skin of her throat with his teeth and sucked hard enough to leave a mark in the morning. She smelled divine. He kissed his way across her jaw to her lips.

She was ready for him. They kissed, mouths open, lips tugging on lips. Her hips bucked towards his. Their feet were still moving but even a charitable observer would have called it an awkward shuffle and not a dance. One of his hands left her hip and he was running his nails up her thigh. Her thighs were on either side of his leg, pressing herself closer to him.

He bumped them against the bench and sat down next to her, breathing hard. Salazar's teeth she was sexy. Her eyes looked wild, and he could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric of her dress. Her shawl had fallen to the ground some ways back across the garden but she didn't seem to miss it.

He weighed his options. He could Apparate them back down to his bedroom, but he wasn't sure he had the focus to do it right now without splinching one or both of them. Better take the stairs. His eyes raked over her—her hair was still up, and her dress was hiked up a little high on her thighs. His eyes roved down her pale legs to her feet. He'd been told going down those stairs in heels was no picnic.

He slipped off the bench, kneeling at her feet. He set one foot in his lap, undoing the tiny stupid buckle and running his hands up her leg. He stopped just above the hem of her dress. He kissed his way down her knee and her calf to the top of her foot.

Hermione looked down at him. The tease. So close. He looked so good kneeling in front of her like that.

He put her other foot in his lap, undoing the clasp on that shoe as well. He gave this leg the same treatment as the first, darting his head away when Hermione's fingers reached for his hair. He stood up, carrying her shoes in one hand and reaching for her hand with his other. He pulled her to her feet and whispered, "Bedroom?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Hermione passed barefoot through the garden and down the stairs, aware of Draco just behind her. Merlin, Circe, Morgana she wanted him.

They crossed back out of the workshop without bothering to shut the door. Hermione pressed him against the living room wall, kissing him until he dropped her shoes.

He reached a hand under her dress, cupping her ass. His breath was ragged. "Bedroom. Now."

She nodded, peeling herself off of him, but grabbing his hand. They stumbled into his bedroom and stood there a moment breathing hard. Draco searched her face, and she read his. They both wanted this. She smiled in what she hoped was a sultry way and teased, "Show me the meaning of pleasure."

Using both hands, Draco reached for the hem of her dress and lifted it over her head. She was breathtaking. His hands reached behind her head and he did what he'd been itching to do all night—letting her hair cascade around her bare shoulders. He kissed her and steered her towards the bed.

* * *

Lucius and Narcissa were out for a stroll in the gardens after dinner. Her fingertips rested on her husband's elbow as they wandered in the evening twilight.

"How did your meeting with Alathea go?"

Narcissa smiled. "Quite well. She'll be sending the girl an owl any time now."

Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he asked, "And you're quite sure this is a good idea?"

She pursed her lips and fractionally tightened her fingers on his arm. "She's perfectly suited for it." She could go on at length about all the reasons this solution was ideal, but…her husband was not a stupid man. She knew he would see them.

Lucius relaxed his shoulders in what might almost have been a shrug. He didn't know the girl very well personally, only by reputation and Draco's stories. "She seems...proud. Under the circumstances I doubt she'd take anything she thought was being handed to her for no reason." Which really was a stupid way to behave. If someone wanted to give you a leg up in the world, why not take it? He'd done his best to see it that Draco had every advantage he could give him all his life.

Narcissa allowed herself a chuckle. Her husband had assessed the young witch correctly. "Oh, I know she wouldn't take anything from me, but that's not a problem here. Alathea will say Minerva recommended her. And I don't doubt that if Alathea writes to Minerva, her name will be at the top of her recommended list. That woman always did have favorites, and Miss Granger is quite qualified." She paused for a moment. "I even told her at lunch the other day that I was going to recommend Alathea reach out to Minerva for recommendations."

"You do think of everything, don't you?" They had both always been good at these games. Lucius walked in silence for awhile with his wife. It was cold and early in the year for roses in the ordinary way, but there was an enchantment in the soil around the Malfoy bushes to keep them blooming most of the year—they only died back for a few months around Christmas. Admittedly Draco had come by and taken quite a large number of them yesterday so the bushes were looking a little thinner than usual. Hermione Granger wouldn't have been his first choice for a daughter-in-law if it came to it but Draco could do a lot worse. She was pretty enough. Smart. It would probably be quite good for the Malfoy image to be associated with her. He paused to break off one of the remaining buds and hand it to his wife. "Do you think he's quite serious about her?"

She took the flower and inhaled deeply. "It's hard to say. I thought they looked quite attached at the banquet, but I couldn't get a good sense of things this week when I met with her." Despite the girl's words Narcissa didn't think she was planning a wedding and babies anytime soon—someone who was contemplating wrangling dragons for a living was probably not about to put an unborn child in the line of fire, so to speak.

He plucked the rosebud from her fingers and tucked it behind her ear as if she were seventeen again, his hand lingering on her cheek. "We'll do what we can."


	15. Dare to Begin

**Author's Note:** I am excited! This is the second to last real chapter; there will be an epilogue to follow. I've got most of the final chapter written I think and am hoping to finish this before new year. I have really enjoyed writing this story. I started posting it around New Year's expecting it to just be a 1-shot, but your responsiveness and understanding overwhelmed me and I kept writing. I've tried hard to keep this story to a given length (and almost managed it). I know sometimes my stories grow more subplots than an octopus has tentacles and it makes them a bit hard to wrap up. I've done my best to keep this one on track while letting the story take me where it would.

Thank you all for reading, and thank you to my beta reader Sunshine Katz.

I'm not sure what my next project will be; I've got a few possibilities I've been toying around with:  
* a sequel to this, focusing on Hermione and her new work (would include established Dramione)  
* a prequel to this, focusing on Draco getting through his own rough patch after the War  
* something totally new—potential ships include: Hermione/Charlie, Hermione/Seamus, Hermione/George, Hermione/Blaise, Hermione and a Ravenclaw?  
* something totally new—centered on Luna?

* * *

 **Chapter 15: Dare to Begin**

* * *

Hermione woke up to midmorning sun coming in through the window. Her body ached in a most agreeable way. They'd enjoyed one another several times before falling asleep and had woken up again in the middle of the night to find they still had a little more energy left to burn. She wasn't sure she'd be walking straight for the next week.

She sat up on her elbow and looked down at him, taking advantage of the moment to study him unobserved. His hair stuck out in every direction, almost like a blond version of Harry's. Merlin, he would _hate_ that description. It made her smile. She could see small bruises across his chest and neck where her kisses had gotten quite vigorous. She wondered if her nails had left any marks on his back. She could quite clearly remember reaching for his shoulders and hanging on for dear life. She pulled the sheet up around herself to ward off the chill of the room and ended up exposing him a bit.

His eyes cracked open. "Enjoying the view?"

"Always."

He tugged the sheet back to him again so he could look at her. She was even better in daylight. There had been an extra layer of deliciousness last night in making Hermione Granger, bossy-know-it-all control freak absolutely lose control. He reveled in the sound of her moaning his name. Was there a better sound than that? He doubted it.

She arched an eyebrow as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He rolled over, moving closer to her and giving her a lingering kiss. "Just what I expected."

"What's that?"

"You're even better in the morning when I can see you properly."

She laughed and swatted him on the arm. "You could have had all this weeks ago."

He shook his head. "It would have been a mistake on New Year's. You would have hated me for it after. Besides, I didn't want Zombie-Granger. _Hermione_ was worth waiting for."

"And now that you have her, what are you going to do with her?"

He considered for a moment. There were of course some obvious answers, but… "Make you breakfast? I suppose we could go out, but that would involve getting dressed and I rather like the view as it is."

"Breakfast it is then." Hermione watched as he unashamedly climbed out of bed and sauntered across the room. Well, he certainly had nothing to be ashamed of, she thought, watching him slide a fresh pair of boxers over his hips. He padded off barefoot into the kitchen.

Hermione stayed in his bed for a little while longer. The silken sheets were luxurious to the touch and smelled like him. She inhaled deeply. The duvet had been kicked to the side sometime during the night. She took stock of herself. No sense of regret for what they'd done or regret at herself for doing it. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable experience. And it felt right. It probably would have been a mistake weeks ago before they'd gotten to know one another again—as adults who'd both been to hell and back, and not children. She wrinkled her nose. It was odd to consider Draco to be right about something, but then again, stranger things has been known to happen in the world.

And she wanted to do it again. She wanted _him_. It wasn't just that she hadn't had sex in a long time, or that he was a fantasy she needed to get out of her system...she wanted him for however long this worked. Life was full of surprises.

She unhooked Draco's bathrobe from the back of the door and tied the belt around her waist. It just about dragged on the floor, and was loose at her shoulders, one end sliding off. She probably had a robe of her own in her little beaded bag—after all, she had nearly _everything_ in that bag—but with one thing and another last night she wasn't sure where exactly it had ended up. She went to the kitchen to see if she could help.

Draco's eyes roved over her appreciatively as she entered.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you need a hand?" She washed the dinner dishes while he made breakfast—fried bread, beans, eggs, bacon, and tomatoes. In short order they were sipping tea and eating.

"Last night was..." she trailed off. She smiled.

He smirked at her. "Have I left _the_ Hermione Granger speechless?"

"Oh, believe me, I have a couple of words for you."

"Spectacular? Amazing?" No one was ever likely to accuse him of being humble.

She did her best to smother a grin. "Actually I was going to go with 'no comment.'"

He gave her an annoyed frown and she smiled innocently. He traced his thumb over the back of her hand. "What do you have on your agenda today?"

She could use a shower. And she ought to start thinking about what she wanted to write to whom—McGonagall first, or Neville's grandmother? And there was Skim. She'd left him with an extra food bowl last night, in anticipation of potentially not coming home, but still… "I really should get home and feed Skim before he tries to eat Athena."

His fingers curled around hers and held her hand firmly. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

She pretended to consider it for a moment and then answered. "I'll bring lunch by your office."

"It's a date."

* * *

Blaise leaned against the doorway of Draco's office, and Draco once again had to wonder if maybe he needed a security guard instead of the receptionist his parents were pestering him to get. Or maybe he could hire someone who _pretended_ to be a receptionist but could fight off angry hordes if needed? That might be a good choice. Hermione would be good at that—not that she'd deign to work his front desk. It was ra pity.

"Draco?"

He drew himself back together and looked up at his friend, blinking. "Pardon?"

Blaise came in and settled himself in the chair. He'd been in the office more than normal lately, but then again, it wasn't every day his best mate fell for Hermione Granger. Or anyone really. It had been a long time since he'd seen him so lovesick. Not that it was a bad thing—he thought it was actually doing his friend good. There had been times over the last few years that he'd been worried for him. The whole first year after the war had been so dark… "I asked how it went this weekend with Granger."

The blond wizard smirked. "I owe you a bottle of wine. I'll bring something back the next time I'm dragged over to the Manor."

"It must have gone exceedingly well." Lucius might not have always made the best decisions, but he had excellent taste in wine. Frequent access to the Malfoy wine cellar had been the only downside to Draco moving out of the family manor as far as he could tell. "Did you ever find out what exactly your mother wanted from Granger the other day?"

"I prefer _not_ to talk about my mother on dates."

That was a fair point. "Granger didn't say anything about it?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Neither of us felt like discussing my mother. Honestly, Blaise, do you discuss _your_ mother on dates?"

He snorted. "No, but mine is less interesting than yours. The only thing to discuss would be whether she's moved on to a new husband or not yet at any given point in time."

Straightening out the papers on his desk, he gave his friend an annoyed look. "You ought to get out of here. Hermione is supposed to be coming by for lunch any time now." The last thing he wanted was Hermione to think he was telling tales about their…activities…this weekend. It would be a surefire way to ensure that she probably wouldn't be up for more and _that_ would be an absolute shame.

"And what exactly are you going to do about Narcissa?"

He wasn't sure. He could always ask Hermione why she'd had lunch with his mother, but he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to have that conversation. Sometimes it was better not to ask questions if you might not like the answer. "I haven't decided."

"Fine. Be that way. If you decide you want help, let me know. By the way, I finished this quarter's numbers." He dropped a stack of sheets on Draco's desk.

Draco watched him go and got back to work. He may as well attempt to get some things done now; with any luck he would be taking a long lunch very shortly.

* * *

Owl post was annoyingly slow at times. And for someone who always wanted up to date information, it was frustrating not to know whether your owl had even arrived, or have any idea when a response might be forthcoming. For all she knew Athena might have been caught in a storm somewhere or gotten lost. You'd think with magic at their fingertips wizards would have come up with a better method for standard communication by now.

Augusta Longbottom was not someone that Hermione wanted to casually drop by and see unannounced. The formidable witch struck her as the sort who would always want to know when guests were expected and do everything by arrangement. Hermione had written to her on Monday and hadn't heard anything back yet. Two days wasn't unreasonable, but she wanted an answer now. She finally had an inkling of the sorts of things she wanted to do. Sitting on her hands and waiting seemed like cruel punishment after so many weeks of indecision, and endless months of feeling useless at the Ministry.

She was keeping busy making potions again. Maybe she'd bring this batch to Hogwarts herself and have a chat with McGonagall. She probably ought to write to her as well but of course Athena hadn't returned yet. She supposed she could always go to Diagon Alley and use a post office owl.

Hermione had just fixed herself a sandwich and settled down at the kitchen table for lunch when she heard wings coming in through the window.

It wasn't Athena.

Untying the letter from the owl's leg, she recognized the handwriting immediately.

 _Are you free for dinner? I'll pick you up at six._

Merlin. It was only Wednesday. They'd just seen each other the day before yesterday at his office. The note basically assumed she'd say yes.

She rolled her eyes at the presumptive behavior, but…she wanted to see him again. She could always refuse to go with him tonight when he showed up, but where would the fun be in that? Merlin help her, she enjoyed Draco Malfoy's company.

In the meantime, she might as well bottle the Calming Draught she was working on and get started on the Dreamless Sleep.

* * *

The Friday night crowd wasn't quite as quiet as he'd like; Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I remember these being bigger when we were younger."

"I think the ice cream was bigger too," Hermione admitted. "Not that I really need anything after all that dinner." Draco had taken her to an upscale restaurant apparently owned by the Bulstrode family. It was quiet, intimate, and the food was delicious. They had opted to skip dessert—the specialty of the night had been a lamprey pie. Normally the chef had excellent taste, but neither Draco nor Hermione thought that lamprey was a suitable dessert dish.

Instead, they had gone for an after dinner walk through Diagon Alley, heading generally in the direction of Draco's flat. Hermione had smiled at seeing Fortescue's ice cream parlor and the two of them had settled in for a much more agreeable dessert. It was busy, even for a Friday night, but they'd found a table and settled in with their ice cream.

They were only about halfway through when a figure carrying his own ice cream accidentally bumped into Hermione's chair.

"Oh, my apologies, miss—" the wizard said. His face broke out in a smile. "Draco, Granger, what a pleasant surprise."

Draco frowned at the other wizard. "A pleasant surprise?" Somehow, he didn't believe the look of "surprise" on his friend's face.

Blaise smiled solicitously at Granger and summoned a chair to him, joining them at the table without waiting to be invited and setting his ice cream down in front of him. "Yes. I don't know the last time I've seen Granger, and she's a good sight prettier than you are," he said charmingly.

Hermione's mouth quirked in a smile. Draco had been right about his friend being charming. Whether Zabini was better looking than Draco…that might be debatable. They were both good-looking, in different ways. She was still musing on this when she decided that she must say something after all. "Well, Draco, you were right."

"About?"

"About how charming Blaise is. If only I'd known this years ago, life might look very different."

Blaise smothered a grin at the annoyed expression on Draco's face.

"Absolutely. If I'd have known he was this charming, I might have let him copy off my potions exam when I caught him trying to cheat off my parchment." She daintily took a bite of ice cream, watching Blaise out of the corner of her eye as he tried to form a response.

Draco couldn't help smirking. Hermione always had been quick. "Well," he drawled, "he's had to work hard to get this alluring. Most girls wouldn't look at him twice when we were at Hogwarts. He was a bit awkward—like the Neville Longbottom of the Slytherin house."

"Well, we all know how Neville turned out." She gave Zabini an appraising look. For all his awkwardness when he was very young, Neville had found his feet. He knew who he was, and what he wanted in life. It wasn't enough to have opposed the Carrows during the war, or have destroyed one of Voldemort's Horcruxes during the last battle. He'd joined the Aurors afterwards in hunting down those that escaped. For two years he'd worked with Kingsley and the others with a fierce intensity—Hermione had wondered if it was what had strained his relationship with Hannah. He had kept at it until Rabastan and Rudolphus Lestrange were back in Azkaban where they belonged. They had put up a hell of a fight. Rabastan went back to Azkaban sans an eyeball, and Rudolphus had lost most of a leg. Looking at the two men at the table with her, Hermione felt as though more needed saying—evidently the concept of Neville Longbottom being anything but a shy little boy was still foreign to them. "After all, Neville's got the whole package, doesn't he? He can dance, he can handle a sword, and he's as loyal as they come."

There was a bit of a stunned silence.

Hermione shook her head. Evidently they clearly did _not_ know Neville at all. "Just trust me on this. You do not want to cross him. And I've got to say, Zabini, you're no Neville Longbottom." She sighed, attempting to lighten the mood. "I suppose if I can't have Neville I'll have to make do with Draco."

"Oh, you poor thing," Draco deadpanned.

Blaise nodded solemnly, more than ready to make fun of his friend. It seemed like safer territory than making fun of Granger's friends. "Yes, I do feel for you. Family dinners with Narcissa and Lucius, Draco's obsessiveness with his clothes….I'm prepared to go on if you'd like some more information on what you'll be in for."

Draco may or may not have kicked Blaise under the table at this point.

Hermione snickered. She hadn't really thought about what meeting any of Draco's friends might be like, but so far, she rather liked Blaise. He reminded her a bit of George, or perhaps Lee Jordan. It wasn't a personality she'd have associated with the Slytherin House, or with the Malfoy she'd known growing up. "We may have to save that for another time. Are there any good embarrassing stories from his childhood?"

"I'm sure I could come up with a few you haven't heard before," Blaise offered, scooting his chair away from Draco and closer to Granger. He looked across the table at his friend. "I really don't know why you disliked her so much at Hogwarts. She's delightful. I may need to steal her away. Have you ever been to Capri?" he asked, turning towards her.

"Not yet. As tempting as that sounds…I think I'd rather sit here and eat ice cream with Draco. I'm afraid I don't really tan—just sunburn. I'm much better off staying in the dreary English weather," she lied glibly. She remembered her trip to the south of France fondly with her parents. She tried to set the memory aside and keep her breathing normal. She missed her parents so much. With a pang, she wondered what they would have thought of Draco. Well, that was a loaded question. Best not to go down the road of who he is versus who he was…she excused herself to the ladies' room with a murmur and left the boys at the table.

Blaise and Draco watched her go, a frown creasing Blaise's forehead. "Was it something I said?" Blaise muttered.

Draco wasn't looking at his friend, but was staring after Hermione. He let out a breath. "I don't know. She's been through as much as I have. Hard to say what it could be." Hermione hadn't gone strange when he'd talked about Blaise's family home in Italy before, so that probably wasn't it. It was funny the things that stirred up the past. He himself had quite an aversion to chandeliers these days. And Hogwarts. Merlin, he hadn't even set foot inside Hogsmeade for years now, let alone Hogwarts. He looked sideways at his friend. "And just how did you happen to run into us tonight?"

"I was just lucky." He certainly hadn't talked up lamprey pie and recommended it as the Friday night special. Nope. Not him. "This is…a fairly public place."

"It is." Draco shrugged. "I don't think we've exactly made headlines yet, but as you pointed out…we went to a Quidditch match together and the award dinner. There was no way we were going to be able to keep this completely quiet at this point."

Blaise patted him on the back. "Well, for what it's worth, I like her. If you'd have given her a chance years ago…"

The blond wizard shook his head. "We weren't the people then that we are now. If we've got a time…it's now."

"Poetic. Now—"

"Did I miss anything?" Hermione asked, settling herself back at the table.

"Blaise was just saying how he was going to have to get going," Draco drawled. He studied Hermione. Her eyes didn't look like they were red from crying, so hopefully whatever it was wasn't too terrible. Her color looked better.

"Yes, I've got to go to St. Mungo's. It's a delicate procedure, but hopefully they'll be able to extract my foot from my mouth. I don't know how but it just always seems to find its way there, really remarkable." He winked at Hermione and bent over to kiss her hand.

Merlin. He was as bad as Narcissa. If Hermione didn't watch out, Zabini would be asking if they were courting next. "It was nice seeing you, Zabini."

"Oh, please, call me, Blaise."

"Hermione then."

With a wink, Blaise said, "'Til next time, Hermione," and left. He didn't bother to acknowledge Draco other than making a face at him on his way out.

"Well, that was an experience. Did I pass?"

Draco twined his fingers in hers. "Yes, I think so. If he tries to break us up it will be to date you himself, not because he thinks I've lost my marbles." He squeezed her hand. "How do…all the Weasleys feel about me these days?"

"I haven't really seen Ron since we had dinner with them." She pursed her lips in amusement. "I think Ginny approves. I think she'd like to _not_ approve, but I think she does. She told me to go out with you last week."

He chuckled. "Lucky me." He wondered if he _hadn't_ sent those letters back in January if the Weaslette would approve of him now? Funny enough that her argument for why he must be a terrible manipulator up to no good was likely the same argument that had probably convinced her that he meant well.

Looking down at her mostly empty bowl of ice cream Hermione asked, "My place tonight?"

He nodded. They hadn't spent the night at her place yet. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand with a mischievous smirk. "I do have to warn you though. I'm afraid I don't have any pajamas with me."

"That's okay. I'll dress to match."

* * *

Narcissa strolled through the garden, arm in arm with her husband, in the usual after dinner walk. Well, she attempted to stroll, but she wasn't fooling him. Her mouth was tight, and she didn't seem to be taking any pleasure in the new buds that were appearing on the bushes.

"My dear, if you're going to ignore me, maybe I ought to send the house-elf out here to walk with you and I'll go back inside where it's warm."

She looked up at him in surprise. She hadn't thought she was that transparent.

"Only to me. Come," he steered her towards a stone bench with an excellent cushioning charm built into it and sat down. He didn't feel as young as he once had, though he would never have admitted it. Some things aged you more than you deserved. A decade ago he never would have expected an evening walk in the garden to be the highlight of his day, but now it frequently was. "Is this about Alathea and Miss Granger?"

"I would have expected to hear something by now from some quarter," she admitted.

"You do have ears everywhere," he said drily.

She pursed her lips. So far none of _her_ plans had landed anyone in the family in Azkaban. She had a right to do what she could to protect the family and see that it prospered. Family was _everything_. "If Draco is as besotted with her as I think he is, surely he would know if Alathea had made her an offer—he may have moved out of our home, but he knows who we know. Someone would have heard something about this and I would have been told." She would avoid going down to his office herself if she could; he had wanted some space from them and she tried to see that he got it—within reason anyway.

He trailed a finger along her cheek and tucked a windblown strand of hair back behind her ear. "You know how meticulous Alathea is. I suspect she probably _has_ written to Minerva requesting a list of candidates and is waiting to write to Miss Granger until she's actually received the recommendation from her. Not because she doesn't trust you, but—"

"—because the girl is probably just as meticulous and would likely ask her old mentor if she'd recommended her." She sighed. "Setting the board is so easy. Waiting for the other player to move is exhausting."

He kissed her on the temple. "Then all there is to do is to keep you occupied until it's time for the next move."

"Did you have anything in mind?"

"There are some possibilities, yes." After all, he wasn't feeling so old now. There was a glint in his eye. An answering smile appeared on her lips. Maybe there were some advantages to having the Manor to themselves now.

* * *

The unfamiliar owl had arrived as Hermione was setting out breakfast. It had the longest feathers at the top of his head that Hermione had ever seen: like little horns, and a narrow face. She wondered if it might be related to the horned owls, but the whole face felt narrow and elongated. While she was busy wondering, the owl hopped across the table and stood impatiently on her hand. It did not like being ignored.

"Alright, don't get your feathers in a knot," she muttered, untying the letter from its leg. The letter was sealed with an ornate wax seal—a unicorn, and possibly a phoenix peeking over the edge. Or were those flames? It was all a bit stylized and wasn't a crest she recognized from anywhere.

The owl flapped off towards Athena's vacant perch and helped itself to some water before settling in for a nap.

Hermione broke the seal on the letter and opened it.

Merlin, Circe, Morgana.

The letter wasn't from Neville's grandmother as she'd been expecting. It was from Alathea Fawley. The letter wasn't long. She read it over again.

 _To Ms. Hermione Granger,_

 _As you may or may not be aware, I am currently endeavoring to launch a major initiative to build better understanding between Muggle-born wizards and established wizarding society. I believe this to be vitally necessary. From your own experiences I think you'll agree this is an effort long overdue._

 _I need someone with the right knowledge and skills to manage this undertaking full-time. We've secured funding for the next two years of the initiative and should have Ministry backing before the end of that period._

 _Headmistress McGonagall believes you may have exactly the skillset suited to this. If you are interested, please Floo to Edoras at two o'clock on February 28th so that we may discuss this further._

 _Alathea Fawley_

Merlin. It was today. She was going to see Alathea Fawley. She frowned at the owl, wondering how long it had taken to get here. The letter wasn't dated. It was still early. She had time to prepare herself. She summoned a quill and parchment to her. She'd start sketching out some of her ideas.

Her tea had cooled down completely before she set down the quill and remembered it was there and that she should have eaten breakfast. Oops.

* * *

 **Author's Note 2:** The bizarre looking owl is an Eostrix owl. They're kind of interesting looking!


	16. Shining

**Author's Note:** This is it—final chapter! There's still an epilogue to come, but this is the end of the story proper. It's been a heck of a journey, and I'm not sure I've ever finished a chaptered story this quickly before. A thousand thanks to my beta reader, SunshineKatz, and thank you to everyone who reviewed and helped spur me on to keep writing.

I feel like I needed to write this story and it feels good to see it all out there and see it embraced as it has been. Seriously, I can't tell you how happy this makes me. I've got a lot of mixed emotions with this story ending, but I feel like I wrote the story I sent out to and it feels good.

Happy holidays!

* * *

 **Chapter 16: Shining**

* * *

Hermione tucked her hair back behind her ears. Her fingers twitched. She was in a fresh set of robes and she'd brushed her hair into a semblance of order. She had her notes tucked into her beaded bag. She'd wait and see how the meeting went before bringing them out, but it was good to be prepared. She gave Skim a kiss on the head for luck. He rolled over onto his side, exposing his furry belly.

Chuckling, she gave him a quick belly rub, even though she really didn't have the time. It helped settle her nerves for the trip. She approached the fireplace and threw a pinch of green powder in it. "Edoras!

Flooing was never pleasant. She was fairly certain it was never going to be pleasant. She arrived in a fireplace tall enough to accommodate a fairly tall man and looked around. The room couldn't be more than six foot across and six foot deep. A couple of cloaks and an umbrella hung on pegs on the wall, and she recognized a hook that might have held a broom, but was empty. She thought she was alone until she heard a voice squeak out at her from about knee level.

"Miss, this way. The Mistress is expecting you." The little house-elf took Hermione by the hand. Instead of going through the door in front of them as Hermione anticipated, the elf Disapparated with her.

She reappeared in an old fashioned sitting room. Everything was meticulously clean and elaborately built—the scrollwork on the legs of the sofa alone must have taken someone ages—but the room gave the impression of having been situated in exactly the same way for a hundred years. Hermione reminded herself that if this was the old Fawley family home, it probably _had_ been exactly the same for at least a hundred years. It took a moment before she noticed the small woman in the armchair, looking up at her through round spectacles.

The elf bowed to her mistress. "Will Mistress Alathea be needing anything else?"

"Tea and scones, Whizzy."

"Yes, Mistress." The elf Disapparated.

"I do hope Whizzy was cordial to you. I sent her to meet you at the Floo point—I didn't want you have to walk through the garden path this time of year. You might catch a chill." She pulled a shawl tighter over her shoulders.

"Whizzy was perfectly polite. Your Floo point is outside the house?"

"Oh yes. I had the Floo entrance moved to the outer edge of the garden some years ago. It cuts down on unexpected visitors." She waved a gloved hand at Hermione, indicating she should sit on the sofa.

Hermione took her seat carefully; it wouldn't do to break a hundred year old sofa as soon as she arrived. "Isn't it rather inconvenient for you?"

The elderly witch chuckled. "Not at all. I don't get many visitors and I go out myself very seldom."

Well, Narcissa had that right. "I was surprised to get your letter given that we've never met. Pleasantly surprised, but _surprised_."

Alathea smiled and her face was a map of wrinkles. "While we've never met, your reputation has not escaped me. War heroine. The Muggle-born witch who set out to surpass her classmates—and succeeded. Always looking to defend those who need defending. Headmistress McGonagall did mention a concentrated effort on your part to free the house-elves of Hogwarts."

Hermione was almost surprised that McGonagall had remembered that last part and thought it worth mentioning. Then again, McGonagall had always been sharp. Hermione shrugged with a smile but didn't deny any of the epitaphs. _War heroine_ wasn't exactly her favorite way to think of herself—the war had cost them all so much—but she wouldn't deny it when it was a point in her favor here. "I'd like to hope that I could use what I've learned to help prevent there being another war like that. If there's less of a sense of _otherness_ and more of an understanding of people as people."

"Precisely why you're here, my dear. I have lived through more wars in my lifetime than any person should have to endure. I'd like to hope that not only are we spared another war in my remaining years, but that my great-grandchildren might be spared for all of their lifetimes." She looked over her spectacles at her. "It's a bit late to spare my grandchildren. I want my legacy to be a better world than the one I was born into. A world with war every other generation is entirely unsuitable. That said, I am _tired_. And I recognize that my expertise may not match the skillset needed to make this work. It's going to be a full-time effort. Tell me, my dear, how would you stop a war?"

"The question is so much bigger than that. And so much more important." Hermione leaned forward. _This_ was what had been simmering in her brain since before she'd left the Ministry. Sure winning a war was great if you happened to find yourself in one, but wasn't it so much better to figure out how to keep it from happening in the first place? Isn't that what they ultimately needed? "We don't need to stop a war. We need to prevent one. We're not so different, in all the ways that matter—the established Wizarding families, and Muggle-borns. But there are differences that need to be considered and dealt with for the relationships that exist between both halves of society."

Whizzy came in with a large tea tray and set out the tea and scones between them. There was jam, and clotted cream for the scones. A little dish of delicate looking chocolates was in one corner of the tray. Honey, milk, and lemon wedges were nestled in beside the teapot. The discussion stopped momentarily as tea and dainties were served.

Hermione accepted her cup and her plate with grace, clearly seeing that Alathea wasn't willing to keep the discussion going while there were more immediate matters at hand. She'd be patient. There was so much to discuss. If this worked…this was exactly what she'd been looking for.

The house-elf bowed to them both, and took herself from the room.

At last, sipping her tea with a satisfied smile, Alathea indicated that Hermione could begin again. With a grin, Hermione took out her notes out of her beaded bag—they were quite extensive. The education needed to go both ways if they were to make any progress and there was a lot of ground to cover.

* * *

Hermione was sprawled on her couch idly petting Skim with one hand when Draco appeared in her fireplace. She looked startled to see him.

He blinked in surprise and took in her appearance. She was wearing robes that had probably been fresh some hours ago. Her hair was pinned back but some of it seemed to have fallen down. She did not look like she was ready for their date. "My, my. Look what the cat dragged in."

She gave a chuckle. "Is it that late already?"

"If by 'that late' you mean seven o'clock when I said I'd pick you up…yes. Although you like you might need to be physically picked up at this point." He flexed his arm muscles to bring a grin to her face. "I could arrange that."

She patted the sofa. "Just sit with me? It's been a long day."

He settled himself on the sofa with her, picking the cat up and setting him to one side. Skimbleshanks gave an indignant shake and climbed right into Draco's lap since Draco had had the effrontery to take his spot. He settled one arm over Hermione's shoulder and, glaring at the cat, consented to scratch the furball behind his pointy little ears.

"Could we skip the dinner reservations and stay in? It's been a long afternoon. There should be things in the kitchen for making sandwiches or I could order us in a pizza."

He kissed her on the forehead, wondering how she'd order dinner in and not have it take days to arrive. "You look like you had a long day."

"I did." She peeled herself off the couch long enough to find the phone—tucked into a corner of the kitchen—and call in delivery for them, and then settled herself back under Draco's arm.

"So, tell me about this long day."

And she did. By the time the pizza had arrived, Hermione had told him about the letter she'd had from Alathea Fawley that morning, and her ensuing meeting with the woman. It had lasted hours. Hermione had revived a little as she described it, her face flushed with determination. This was what she had been looking for. A job where she could do something that felt like it really mattered. "She's been looking for someone full-time to get the program off the ground to establish better communication and understanding between Muggle-born wizards and _established wizarding society._ " It niggled at the back of her mind that this was exactly what she and Narcissa had talked about over a week ago, but Alathea had said McGonagall had recommended her. Hermione never had gotten around to visiting the Headmistress last week like she meant to. She tucked it in the back of her mind to add to the list of things to do.

"That can't be right. It's…strange," he muttered.

"You don't think I'm amply qualified?"

"No, not that. I'm astounded that she saw you in person. This old biddy has been a bit paranoid since her husband got Dragon Pox. She doesn't leave her estate and doesn't let many people in." He wondered what McGonagall had said that was so convincing. Well, what _couldn't_ she have said? This was Granger. Top student. War heroine. All around do-gooder. Fawley would be lucky to get her heading up anything; Hermione had already told Draco that McGonagall had asked her to teach at Hogwarts more than once and she'd politely but firmly declined. Too many metaphorical ghosts. He couldn't blame her. If he ever set foot in Hogwarts again it would probably be too soon for him. He suppressed a shudder.

"Your mother did say something to that effect the other week." She frowned. "Your mother still sees her though?"

"They've known each other a long time, and you know my mother. Fingers in all the pies as long as her hands never get dirty." He looked at the cardboard box the deliveryman had brought and opened it with a sniff. It smelled good. He went to the kitchen to get them plates and drinks. As he came back to the couch he said, "I've been meaning to ask. Why _did_ you have lunch with my mother? I had assumed you'd go to great lengths to avoid her."

Hermione shrugged and gestured for him to sit down and eat. It might sound odd to say that she had enjoyed politely spiting the woman at the award reception, though she suspected if anyone understood that particular pleasure, it would be Draco. Besides, Draco must know she wouldn't have initiated contact with his mother. That was all on Narcissa. She said nonchalantly, "She said she wanted to spend a little quality time with the girl you were courting."

"What did you say in return?" Draco asked, taking his seat. Courting? Unfortunately that _did_ sound like his mother.

Hermione's face got very serious. "I told her you'd make a wonderful father and that it was just darling to watch you interacting with Teddy. You seemed like a complete natural."

There was a pause for a moment, and then Draco laughed, shaking his head in admiration. No doubt that response had surprised his mother—and probably made her uncomfortable, which was very likely Hermione's intention. He had to hand it to her. "Oh, I do like you." He kissed her and handed her a plate while he helped himself to a slice of whatever was in the box.

"The feeling is mutual." She paused a moment and took a breath. "Draco…" she started.

"Yes?"

" _Are_ you courting me?"

He hardly missed a beat. "Define courting."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'd consider the word courting to be about a hundred years out of date for any reasonable person to be using now. It's generally perceived to be a period of wooing and exploration in a relationship to determine whether or not to marry someone. By some definitions, courtship is a wooing period that very firmly does not involve sex."

"In that case, we are _not_ courting." Sex was most definitely on the table. On the table, on the bed, in the shower…he liked to be creative. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked her in the eye. "I don't have a ring hidden in my pocket, and I'm not about to ask you to move in with me. I do, however, very much enjoy spending time with you." Salazar's teeth that was true. They'd been seeing each other nearly every other day.

Hermione smiled and looked over the robes he was wearing tonight. "You don't have a pocket." It was a practical answer and she approved. If he'd pulled out a ring she'd have had to take him to St. Mungo's to get checked out for a Confundus charm. After all, they hadn't been seeing one another for long, even if their knowledge of each other went back many years. Neither of them was the same person that they had been at Hogwarts.

Not entirely sure how to interpret her smile, he kept talking. "I am taking this seriously, Hermione. I know we will most likely have challenges. I'll find you too bossy, you'll find me arrogant."

"Your mother will drive me insane."

"I think most of your friends are annoying little do-gooders. But...I want to see where this goes. I'm not going to spoil it right now with a too-soon, over-the-top romantic gesture that might sound like a good idea but will send one or both of us to panic. I want us to take our time."

She squeezed his hand. "I am so glad I don't have to commit you to St. Mungo's."

Draco felt relieved to know they were on the same page. He hoped she was around for a long time to come. Watching her talk about her meeting today—she was positively glowing. It seemed she might have found her next dragon to slay, or capture, or however it was phrased. She had a new cause. He found the timing a little suspicious; he resigned himself to an upcoming luncheon himself with his mother. In the meantime—this pizza wasn't bad. Why didn't wizards have a door-to-door dinner delivery service? Though he supposed that the cheese might fall off in Floo travel and that would get messy. Still, there might be alternatives. It was something to think about.

Hermione smiled as Draco tucked an errant piece of hair back behind her ear. She felt more at peace than she had in quite a while.

* * *

The lion face knocker stared at her, and asked her name, but before Hermione could respond, she heard a shout from the garden behind her.

"Hermione!"

"Neville? I didn't expect to find you here." She watched as he approached the front steps, wiping his forehead and smearing a little earth across it. "How are you?"

"The same as ever. I've been meaning to get to trimming the flutterby bushes for a couple weeks now and I finally had time to come do it. I grow a lot of stuff here, but the nursery takes a lot of care every day. I'll also be gathering some fresh dittany and a few other things from the backyard while I'm here. You look good. I haven't seen you since that night with Malfoy. You're here to see Gran?"

Hermione smiled at the honest compliment. They hadn't yet had a chance to get together and catch up after the Patched Cloak dinner. She'd finally reached the point after that dinner of having energy and interest in things again, but she'd been kept busy. "I am. I sent her a letter last week and had a letter back from her last night inviting me over this afternoon. I was interested in getting involved in some of the work I know she's part of."

"That's great, Hermione. I know she's always saying we need more people our age involved or she doesn't know what will happen in the long-term." He gave the door knocker a pointed look as the mouth opened again to ask his name—really, he'd lived there nearly his whole life—and the door swung open at his touch. "Gran! Hermione's here to see you."

They found Augusta in one of the parlors. Her eyes were closed, but she was sitting quite straight as if she were steeling herself to get up rather than as if she were napping while waiting for her guest. Both hands rested atop a cane in front of her that Hermione couldn't recall seeing before. Her eyes snapped open and there was no sign of tiredness. She made as if to stand.

"Don't trouble yourself, really," Hermione insisted.

"Really, Gran, the Mediwi—"

"Neville."

"Gran," he said, equally firmly. "I'm not having you risking another fall. You haven't healed all the way from the first one yet." He looked at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "I'll go bring the tea things in while you two chat."

The austere old woman paused for a moment and nodded, watching her grandson leave the room. She sighed. "He'd live here if I asked him to. He offered not long ago but I don't think it would a satisfactory arrangement for either of us."

Hermione simply nodded, taking a seat across from the older witch. It was good to see Neville showing strength here; it was one thing to fight a horde of Death Eaters. It was quite another to take a stand as an adult against your formidable grandmother. "I really appreciate you seeing me today."

"Not at all. I appreciate your reaching out. I had assumed that you were too busy to take an interest in our work. I'm glad to hear it's otherwise. I think there are some things coming up that would be quite well suited to you."

Neville came in then carrying a tea tray and spent a few minutes making sure his Gran and Hermione had tea and set out a plate of biscuits. He smiled at them both before heading back outside, reminding his grandmother he was just a shout away if she needed him.

Hermione could not picture Augusta shouting.

The elderly witch took a long and satisfying sip of her tea.

"As a matter of fact, your letter last night came just a day behind a letter I received from Alathea Fawley. It looks like there's some full-time work coming up that I'd like to be involved with."

Augusta nodded as Hermione started to describe her meeting and plans. "It sounds like you don't need much from me at the moment after all," she said with a smile.

"Alathea mentioned she's still looking for someone to co-run the organization with me. I have so many ideas. We need to introduce a program for the summer before the first year of Hogwarts to teach incoming first year Muggle-borns the things they need to know about the Wizarding world that they might not pick up otherwise. And a program maybe for second or third years for helping children from Wizarding families to see some of the marvels of Muggle technology and the realities of Muggle life. I just introduced Draco Malfoy to phoning for pizza. It may have revolutionized his world," she said, smirking.

Augusta wondered a bit about that and decided not to ask. "I'm happy to help in anyway I can, but I don't think I have the energy to put into the full-time position. Still…I think there are some books in my library that would be of use to you. Wizarding history, books on manners and etiquette."

Hermione smiled and it was only a little forced. Augusta Longbottom might have been a good choice for her partner in this—she would be familiar with the intricacies of wizarding life and some of the blindspots that Hermione might still have even after all this time. Still, in a way it was a bit of a relief. Neville's grandmother might not be the easiest person to get along with or share a conflicting opinion with. They exchanged ideas back and forth for a little while, and Hermione took some notes.

When she started to notice the other witch flagging, Hermione thanked Augusta for her time and headed back outside to Disapparate. She wasn't surprised to find Neville was still lingering by the flutterby bushes. "Hey."

"Hi. Good meeting?"

"I think so. We exchanged some ideas. I think this is what I'm meant to be doing. I think it'll make a difference."

Neville gave her a hug. "I'm glad for you, Hermione."

"I'd love to pick your brain on this project sometime."

"You know where to find me. I'm spending as much time as I can over here right now until I know she's healed up. She's…I can't bear to lose her."

Hermione nodded in understanding at her friend.

* * *

His fingers twitched under the table. He breathed deeply and tried to remind himself that he'd been the one to invite her out. The Quaffle was in his hand and it was his move. He gave a charming smile as his mother sat down.

"It was such a pleasant surprise to receive your letter, Draco. I was beginning to fear you'd forgotten how to write or that you might have run out of stationery."

He pursed his lips and motioned for the waiter to fill their water glasses. "Oh, Mother. I couldn't possibly have run out of stationary. You sent me a lifetime supply of custom stationery last year for my birthday." He rarely used it, except to write to her. For business purposes—which most of his letters were—he used his own stationery, which he'd branded in a way that suited him.

Narcissa hardly looked at him as she unfolded her napkin into her lap and sipped her water. "Then I suppose you just had better things to do than write to your mother. I haven't seen you in weeks."

Draco did his best to keep his expression neutral. "I have been busy."

"That Granger girl is delightful. I really don't understand why you said such horrible things about her growing up."

He gritted his teeth. This had been a mistake. He knew that he could sit here and ask his mother point blank if she had arranged Hermione's new job, and she would lie through her teeth, and they'd both know she was lying, and she'd sit there and smile about it. Why had he bothered to put himself through this? He took a moment to compose himself. He could dance as well as the next wizard. "Well, you know what children are like. Always parroting back the things their parents tell them. Thank Godric, I outgrew that phase or I would have missed out on the most brilliant witch I've ever met." His mouth may have curled very slightly as he watched his mother's eyes crinkle.

* * *

Tidying up his work bench, Draco fortified himself with a chocolate frog to prepare for the conversation he'd been putting off. He ambled over to the dining table where Hermione was working on her notes. He made a mental reminder to find a nice desk for her that could go in the work room for when she came over. He could make space.

"How is it going?"

She looked up. "Plenty to do. Mostly I'm trying to get it on paper and try to consider the practicalities. I think we need to focus on students first. Augusta has some records I'll go over and look at next week that might be useful, and Alathea has sent over a stack of prospective people who might be able to help." She noticed something in his hand. "Is that the prototype?"

"It is."

"Well? Can I see it?"

He handed her a compact which she flipped open to reveal a mirror.

"It's still rough and needs work." He pulled another one out of his own pocket. "We'll need to do some distance tests, but I think it should be stable now."

She sat back in her chair, looking up at him and noting a slight awkwardness in his stance. He was nervous about something. "Come on. What is it?"

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sat down beside her. "I have something to tell you. I had lunch with my mother the other day. I think there's something you should know. She's responsible—"

"—for reaching out to Alathea Fawley and telling her to bring me into this project?" Hermione asked dryly.

Draco looked at her in surprise and watched her grin. "You know?"

"Oh, I know. I'm not stupid. The timing was too coincidental to be anything else." Did he really think she was that naive? Sweet of him to try to warn her. "But I did also meet with McGonagall this week. Fawley did write to her, and McGonagall did recommend me. And I know that I'm the right person for this job."

"I suppose you also know that my mother is probably going to be all over this?"

A wicked grin curled up on the brunette's face. "Oh yes. She's offered to fill in and help out while I try to find someone; she's offered to assist 'as long as needed'. She thought that she and I might make a good team for a project like this. She's probably not entirely wrong—I'm sure she knows things that I don't."

"Why do you think she set it all up?"

"You tell me. She's your mother. I don't know if this is the next step in improving her image through charity work, or if she genuinely thinks this is needed. Or if maybe she was hoping that I'd be so busy I wouldn't have time for you." She still hadn't decided if Narcissa approved of their relationship or not.

"Hard to say with her. But I can guarantee you that she doesn't want another war. She may have refused to leave behind the Manor and the trappings of our prewar life, but she and my father are both committed to staying out of Azkaban and staying together." He squeezed her hand.

Hermione smiled back at him. It was good to know that sabotage sounded unlikely. She had enough work to do as it was. "I intend to stay in control. I've already told her that Malfoy Manor is not an acceptable place for us to work. She's going to have to make do with me at my flat or in Augusta's library until we find some suitable workspace." She'd work with Narcissa for a while at least. But it was going to be on _her_ terms, not Narcissa's. "Working with me will make her look good I think. And working with her might make this look more acceptable to some more old fashioned parties. I'm not going to let her take over, but I recognize a useful tool when I see one."

Draco couldn't help but laugh. He was almost tempted to offer her the space he wasn't using on the second floor. His mother probably wouldn't like the smell, but it would be nice to have Hermione working nearby. Then again…Hermione seemed to have things under control. He wouldn't offer the space yet unless she seemed concerned about finding a place. He kissed her. The more he got to know her, the more he was convinced she would have made a decent Slytherin.

* * *

Filling Skim's food dish, Hermione nearly spilled it as she heard someone shouting to her.

"Oi! Hermione! Hermione!"

Startled, she went over to the fireplace and found Ron's face staring back at her. She knelt down, leaning over the grate. She tried not to wince as her knees hit the cold hard floor."Ron? What's going on?"

He grinned at her. "Mum is taking Teddy for the night. She told Harry she missed him, but I think she _really_ thought he needed a break-whether he thinks so or not. Anyway, she talked him into it. We were thinking we'd go out tonight to the Leaky Cauldron for a few hours. You should come."

Hermione blinked. "Just the three of us?" It had been ages since the three of them did anything together as just the three of them—either Susan came along, or Teddy, or Ginny…she hadn't subjected Draco to their company yet since the dinner with Ron and Susan.

"Yeah! C'mon. Are you going to make me say it?" He rolled his eyes. "We miss you."

It _was_ good to hear it. "All right. What time?"

"See you at the Leaky Cauldron in about half an hour? I suspect it'll take that long for Harry to stop fussing over Teddy. As if Mum hadn't already raised _seven_ of us."

Personally, Hermione would round the number up to at least eight-she and Harry had been as good as half raised by the Weasley matron. A smile broke out on Hermione's face. "I'll see you there at six."

"Good." Ron's head disappeared from the flames and Hermione eased herself up off her knees. How had wizards not yet managed to come up with something better than this for casual calls? It was absurd. She couldn't wait for the magic mirrors to become available. Even the prototype was working pretty well for Draco and her.

Still, the smile stayed on Hermione's face. A night out with Ron and Harry sounded really good. Not to mention, overdue. In short order, Hermione had brushed her hair and put on a fresh sweater, Apparating to the Leaky Cauldron.

It wasn't too crowded, and Hermione seemed to be the first of the trio to arrive. No doubt Harry was going to have to be peeled away from Teddy and Mrs. Weasley by Ron. The image made Hermione smile. She tucked herself into a table at the corner where she'd have a good view of the room when the boys came in.

She watched the crowd for a little while—there was an elderly couple bickering at a nearby table, and a young witch and wizard making eyes at one another across the bar. When someone came to take her order, she ordered a Fizzing Flyby.

Harry and Ron turned up about the same time her drink did. Ron was rolling his eyes at Harry.

"Teddy will be fine, mate. He's spent the night with Mum before."

"I know, but it's been a while and he's older now—"

"Harry, you haven't given yourself a night off in almost a year," Ron said firmly. "Even Mum packed us off to Aunt Muriel's once in a while."

Hermione pushed her drink towards Harry with a glint of humor in her eye. "You may need this more than I do."

Harry couldn't decide whether Hermione was referring to Ron's badgering or his parental duties. Either way, he took a sip and made a face.

"That is the exact same reaction Draco had. I don't understand it. Ron?" She gestured at him to take the glass.

Ron shook his head with an impish grin. "No way."

Shrugging, Hermione picked up her glass and took a sip. It was a little bubbly, but she didn't see anything wrong with that.

Ron patted Harry on the shoulder and walked up to the bar to order them both drinks.

As Hermione turned back to Harry, she found he was already looking at her and smiling. "What?" she asked.

"You look happy."

"I _am_ happy, Harry."

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand once. "You deserve it. Even if you have terrible taste in alcohol."

Hermione laughed. "I'll drink wine. No Firewhiskey. This is just good." She took another sip, feeling the bubbles skitter across her tongue.

Ron relented and finally decided he had to try her drink before it was gone as long as she agreed to order something else next round. He took a gulp and his nose twitched. "The flavor's not half bad but…not the bubbles. Here, let's try something else…"

Watching her friend head to the bar to get her a drink, Hermione smiled. It didn't matter how long they they went without seeing each other. There were some people in your life that were there forever, no matter what.

* * *

 **Author's Note 2:** I've just got to say it again...thank you, everyone!


	17. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** Happy New Year, everybody! This story is at last _**complete**_. It feels good. I'm still not sure what my next story is going to be—I've written a few pages that could be the start of a sequel to this. I'm also thinking of revising and finishing **We Were Here** which I started a long while ago. It was a one shot that grew some scenes from the Marauders days of Hogwarts. Still considering possibly writing something totally different since I've spent the last few years on Dramione (but really…Dramione, need I say more?). Anyway, thank you all for all of your encouragement and support this year, and thank you again to SunshineKatz for beta-reading. This epilogue is set about 6 months after the proper story left off. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

* * *

 **Epilogue**

* * *

Draco wandered around the flat with his hand in his pocket. He rather wished the party was over and it was just the two of them. Still, all things considered, it was going surprisingly well. He'd even managed not to call Potty and Weasel by his preferred nicknames for them. He was all charm and grace—the perfect host. He eyed his mother and father, talking with McGonagall. He suspected they'd chosen the lesser of two annoyances in deciding whether to engage her in conversation or speak to Molly and Arthur Weasley.

Molly was fluttering over the food as if checking to make sure there was enough for everyone—Draco knew he'd planned well and there was plenty. He knew how to throw a party.

"You look like you could use a drink," a redhead said, offering him a glass.

Draco gratefully had the glass halfway to his lips before he hesitated. "George."

"Relax, I haven't put anything in it this time. I figure you've got enough to worry about."

"Hmm." Draco murmured an all-purpose counter-charm before taking a sip. It wouldn't be proof against everything the redhead might have put in his glass, but should cover a fair bit of it. He would never forget coming home and finding out his hair had turned _blue_ after running into George at the Leaky Cauldron and agreeing to a drink. As brilliant as the man's spells and potions work was, it didn't do to get too comfortable around him.

George grinned, elbowing him slightly in the ribs. "Come on, Hermione doesn't want you looking sour on her birthday."

"And she doesn't want anyone turned into birds either. I saw the Canary Creams." _And threw them in the fireplace_.

"Can't blame a bloke for trying to liven things up. Tell the truth, wouldn't you like to see him sprouting feathers just once?" George jerked his chin at Lucius, who was looking a bit bored. Feathers would make things interesting.

"Maybe next time." He patted George on the arm and moved on. He saw Hermione talking animatedly with Molly.

"So, how are Teddy's lessons going?"

"Really well. He's a bright little boy when you get him to focus. I think having the others there is really helping too."

"He's getting along well with Victoire and—" She hesitated for a second, trying to remember Arthur's coworker's son's name. "—Falco?"

"Oh yes." The Weasley matron lowered her voice. "Mind you, the first week was a little rough. Teddy isn't really used to sharing. But they're fast friends now."

Hermione nodded. Teddy had spent most of his time with adults. Starting to spend more time with children his own age was definitely going to be a learning experience—a valuable one. "And how is Harry handling it?"

"Oh, well enough. I think he was worried that first week, but it's all sorted out. On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, Harry's taking him back after lunch for science classes. This mostly seems to involve spending a lot of time in our garden, as best I can tell."

That brought a smile to Hermione's face. She could imagine the sort of science experiments Harry would do with a five year old Teddy—learning about the life cycle of a butterfly perhaps, or understanding how plants grow. She excused herself as a figure on the other side of the room caught her eye and she started towards him. It took a moment for her to realize he wasn't alone.

"I suspect you could substitute a lot of things as part of a wand core. Hippogriff feathers might be a good choice," Blaise offered.

"Hippogriffs might be classified as magical, but they aren't really magical enough to serve as a good focal point for which your own magic can resonate off. I'm hoping to convince Ollivander and McGonagall to let me try a Thestral mane hair one day. Thestrals really are misunderstood." Luna was sitting on the floor with her feet tucked under her robes. She never turned her head in Hermione's direction, but she suddenly said, "Hello, Hermione," as the woman walked up behind her.

"Hi, Luna, it's good to see you. Would you…would you like a chair?"

"Oh, no, I'm quite comfortable here. Sometimes when you're stuck on a problem, it helps to see things from another point of view."

Blaise looked at Hermione as if expecting an argument, and Hermione just shrugged and said, "As long as you're having a good time, sit wherever you'd like." She looked over at Blaise, offering him a rescue in case he wanted out of the conversation. "Can I get you anything?"

A smile played on his lips. "I think I might engage in a little…change of perspective as well. Do you have a cushion I might borrow? The floor looks rather hard."

Hermione found him a pillow off the couch and watched with amusement as Blaise settled himself on the floor next to Luna to continue their conversation. Blaise could talk to anyone when he really wanted to. Hermione was just on her way back to the drinks table when she spotted Draco and Ginny speaking to one another. She was going to head that way when she found herself pulled aside by Teddy tugging on her arm and asking for more cake. From the smears around his mouth and on his clothes, he'd already had plenty. Time to get him cleaned up.

Ginny had caught Draco by the arm. He looked down at her.

"Well?"

"Well?" he mimicked.

She sighed, looking up at him, and he gave in and answered.

"Not yet. I'm sure you'll know sooner rather than later." He quirked the corner of his mouth at her. She was a tenacious little thing when she set her mind to it. It was a good thing she'd come around sooner rather than later. "How was your match against the Magpies?"

The redhead grimaced. "We scraped a win, but barely. We were down right until the Snitch got caught, and Gemma sure let us know about it."

"A win is a win."

"We were down 30 to 120 before the Snitch. It was a bad game."

Draco winced. That was a bad game. "Their Keeper?"

They were still talking Quidditch when Hermione found their way over to them. Draco put his arm around her waist and murmured in her ear, "Having fun?"

"Yes. Definitely one of my better birthdays. I'm amazed there's been no bloodshed yet."

"Well, it's still early."

"I could punch Malfoy in the nose if that would help," Ginny offered cheerfully.

"I'll pass," Hermione said. "I like his face the way it is."

Ginny muttered something that may have been "spoilsport."

"I'm very glad you no longer want to punch me in the face," Draco said. "Definitely one of the perks of this relationship." They wandered the room together for a while talking to their guests. They overheard Narcissa telling McGonagall that they made a lovely couple. Hermione would have sworn that McGonagall was smothering a look of disbelief. Augusta saved her friend by pulling her into a conversation and leaving Narcissa to find a new target. She settled on Hermione and Draco with a charming smile.

Draco put an arm around Hermione's waist and spirited her away to see Susan at the drinks table as Hermione called out that she'd see Narcissa at the office tomorrow. They had a lot of work to get done-Hermione was hoping to plan an outing into the Muggle world for some Hogwarts students over the upcoming Christmas break. In the meantime, Narcissa had asked for Hermione's assistance in choosing suitable Muggle clothing so she could have a few things on hand when it was required. Hermione wasn't a fan of shopping at the best of times and it was hard to believe that shopping with Narcissa would be the best of times.

Eventually the last of the guests filtered out through the fireplace and Hermione and Draco finally allowed themselves to collapse on the couch.

"I thought they'd never leave."

She squeezed his knee. "You always host an excellent party—they didn't want to go."

"Remind me next time; less food and they'll leave earlier," he muttered. He turned towards her, slightly sideways, slightly nervous. "You had a good time?"

"A great time. My highlight was Neville's gran and McGonagall telling stories about your father as a Hogwarts student."

"Yes, I've never seen his face go quite that color before." Eleven year old Lucius Malfoy had most definitely not been the poised and suave man Draco had known all his life. It might be worth trying to get some more stories out of them. "I thought the highlight might have been Blaise lying on the floor with Lovegood."

Hermione laughed. The pair of them had lain down to "feel the energy of the room." She was sure Luna had been awake the whole time, palms pressed to the wooden floor. Maybe she really was doing something. She was also equally certain that Blaise had fallen asleep after a few minutes of it. She rested her head on his shoulder for a minute. "I suppose we should clean up."

"It can wait." He held her hand. "I wanted to do this earlier, but I knew you'd never forgive me if I made a spectacle of it." He'd weighed his options carefully and he knew Hermione would not want this to be a public moment. "Hermione- ," he stopped, trying to find the words. He'd written them all out several times. Nothing had quite sounded perfect. "I know we have a long history, that hasn't always been pleasant—to say the least—but these months with you this year have been everything I never knew I needed. You're resilient. Determined. No matter what you've been through, you still manage to find the good in people. Even me. You're always pushing yourself—and everyone around you—to choose to be better than they are. You're beautiful, and brilliant, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?" He slid off the couch, still holding her hand in one of his, and produced a ring from his pocket. He'd been fiddling with it all day, waiting for everyone to leave.

She stared down at him and whispered, "How did we get here from where we were?" Where was the arrogant teenage boy she'd punched in the nose? The one with no empathy for anyone? Where was the overeager young witch with something to prove?

"You actually let me have a conversation with you," Draco answered, still holding her hand, eyes locked on hers. "It was probably the first time we were both really listening."

"And you saw me. You really _saw_ me when I felt invisible. When I was trying to be invisible." She didn't feel invisible anymore and she didn't want to. She was unapologetically herself. And Draco loved her for that.

"This may be the first time you've ever been asked a question, and not actually provided an answer," Draco said dryly, trying to hide his nerves.

She squeezed his hand. "Ask it one more time, please."

"Hermione Granger, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Draco. I will."

He slid the ring onto her finger and got back on his feet, pulling her to hers as well and kissing her.

She kissed him back. A lifetime with Draco Malfoy by her side—who would have thought? She rested her head on his shoulder after pulling away.

He stroked her hair. "By the way, Ginny wants to be your maid of honor."

"Ginny knew about this before I did?"

"She caught me picking out your rings a few weeks ago. I didn't want to risk giving you a family ring—it's hard to say which ones may be cursed." At some point he'd get the things over to Bill Weasley for evaluation, but even so…Hermione deserved a fresh ring, not one that had been worn by his bigoted ancestors for generations.

"She never said a word."

"Good. It was supposed to be a surprise." He rested his forehead against hers. He was exactly where he wanted to be.


End file.
